His Sister's Keeper
by 2centsworth
Summary: McGee has run off on a vital personal mission. So has Gibbs; to find McGee. Rating for violence in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything affiliated with it.**

**My first NCIS fic, folks. Hope you like it!**

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**Chapter One**

Tim stepped around the corner of the service station, trying to hold the key to the public bathroom as gingerly as possible. The place had been filthy, and the attendant hadn't looked any better. No telling what kind of nastiness covered that sticky key.

He stopped in his tracks at seeing a figure near his parked car. Damn! Gibbs. He hadn't realized his boss was that close to him, he thought he'd thrown him off his trail miles ago. Tim backpedaled quickly back around the side of the small building, hugging the greasy wall as he peered around it cautiosly.

Gibbs was looking around slowly. Tim held his breath. He knew the observing, intelligent and analytical mind that Gibbs posessed. He was actually quite suprised that he'd made it this far without having been caught yet, especially with Gibbs on his trail so closely most of the time. The Boss had started out after him sooner than Tim had expected, therefore shortening his headstart.

Tim glanced at the surface of the parking lot and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least it was asphalt rather than dirt or gravel. He'd have left no footprints leading from his car to give away his current position. But he knew better than to let his guard down. Gibbs could find a trail anywhere if he had enough time. The question was, would he take the time now, or would he use a different strategy?

_Damn it, _Tim swore again. What was he going to do now? The car was obviously a loss. Gibbs had it now, there was no getting it back. He might think Tim would come back for it, might try to use it as a lure or a trap. He'd definately search it for clues, maybe even go so far as to have it hauled back to NCIS. But either way, Tim knew he wouldn't be getting it back. To try would mean certain capture, but so would hanging around too long. Gibbs was clever, and sneaky. And besides that, he knew what he was doing and he knew Tim almost better than Tim knew himself. Tim would rather have a squad of FBI agents on his tail rather than that single man. He knew he couldn't evade him long.

But he couldn't afford to be caught.

Another car. He'd have to find another car. He was losing time, every delay put him further behind, but first he'd have to get past Gibbs. First that, then a car.

He balked a little at the idea of auto theft, but he tried to push it to the back of his mind. He didn't have much of a choice. He couldn't use his credit cards or debit card and he'd run out of cash two days ago. Besides, he'd done a few things on this little jaunt that he'd never thought he'd ever do, and he suspected worse was to come.

But above all, he had to keep up, and he had to avoid confrontation with Gibbs. That was paramount. Gibbs was the one man that could put a halt to his mission.

The car contained the few articles of clothing he'd brought, the last small amount of food he'd had and, most importantly, his laptop. He could do without the other stuff if necessary, but he had to have that laptop. And his phone. He'd ditched his own cell phone so NCIS couldn't track him, but he'd purchased one of those cheap pre-paid phones. Thankfully, that was in his pocket, and he reassured himself by patting the bulge the phone made on his hip, along with the small, ever-important scraps of paper.

He quickly slid back against the wall a little as Gibbs' gaze swept across his position, then back, seeming to settle on him for a moment. Tim breathed a sigh of relief when Gibbs' eyes moved again, no indication in his expression that he suspected Tim was there.

Tim waited, impatient and anxious. After a little more looking around, Gibbs left the car and went into the little store. Tim knew that was probably the only chance he was going to get.

Tim followed the wall back around the backside of the building, passing the men's room, around the trash-strewn back of the building, then to the corner opposite of where he'd been moments before. This put him closer to the car and allowed him to get to the car on the far side, without crossing the main parking area or in front of the door and windows of the small store.

Now to get to the car. Would Gibbs be watching the car or questioning the clerk? Probably both. He knew Gibbs knew he was here, and the clerk would only confirm it. It was only a matter of time before Gibbs came back out and searched for him. Maybe that would be his chance. The clerk would tell Gibbs that Tim had taken the key to the bathroom, which was now on the opposite side of the building. Most likely, Gibbs would head that way first. Maybe. Or maybe not. You never could tell with Gibbs. Sometimes it was like he had supernatural powers or something. Maybe he'd step out of the building and his Gibbs-sense- or Gibbsness, as Abby would say- would pinpoint him directly to Tim.

He'd probably be coming out anytime, unless he was watching the car. Tim knew he had to take his chance now. Before he lost his nerve.

Tim crouched down, and sprinted to the car next to his, which Tim only just now realized was Gibbs'. He was about to sprint to his own car, but then he had an idea. He almost chickened out- it would be taking his own life in his hands. But he did it. Tim pulled his knife from his ankle- one of Gibbs' own rules- and firmly embedded the knife in Gibbs' front driver side tire. Then he scooted down and did the same to the back tire, then replaced his knife. Tim winced at the damage he'd inflicted. Gibbs was going to kill him.

Back at the front end of the car, McGee prepared to sprint around and to his own, then froze and backpedaled quickly as the bell on the door jingled and Gibbs stepped out. Tim landed on his butt in the dirt, jarring his teeth, then made a quick, low run around the wall of the store again. He pressed himself close to the corner, hoping he hadn't been loud enough to alert Gibbs' excellent hearing.

On his knees, Tim peered around the rough brickwork of the wall. Gibbs headed toward the opposite side, where the bathrooms were. But after a couple steps he stopped and turned, looking at the car.

_Damn, damn damn! _Tim cursed again. Gibbs sensed something, probably that Tim was watching.

Tim looked at his watch. He was running out of time. He had no choice, he was getting further behind than he could afford. He had to leave the laptop. He couldn't confront Gibbs. His boss wouldn't let him continue this, though he had no choice, and Tim certainly had no chance of overpowering the former Marine. It was a struggle just to keep ahead of him, and combined with the occassional presence of the mysterious Mutt and Jeff to deal with, Tim had about as much as his nerves could take.

Coming to his decision, Tim scooted back along the wall, again toward the back of the building. He really felt the loss of his laptop, but he resigned himself to relying on just the clues she managed to leave every so often. If he could decode thousands of computer code under pressure, he could manage this. He'd have to; the consequences were more than his mind could grasp.

Tim got to the back of the building to a small cracked, asphalt lot behind the store. There was a rust covered, used-to-be-blue, two-door sedan from the ' 80 's era back there. He wondered if it would run. He guiltily hoped it belonged to the clerk and wasn't some cast-off that hadn't been worth the effort to tow away.

Tim opened the door as quietly as the squeaky hinges allowed, crouched down just in case Gibbs showed up back there, and reached under the steering column. These old cars were no problem to hotwire. Any average Joe could probably learn how on the internet.

Tim suppressed a shout of victory as the old car roared to life, a suprisingly strong and mellow sounding engine under the decrepit shell. It was obvious where the owner of the vehicle concentrated his attentions. This was the kind of engine that deserved to be paired with a classic mustang or corvette. Tim vaguely thought that this would be a good story for DiNizzo, the lover of sweet cars, but the thought was fleeting and more out of habit than anything. He had other things more immediate on his mind.

Knowing that the sound of the engine would carry, Tim jumped into the car quickly and slammed the door, no longer worried about stealth. Just as he put the car into reverse, Gibbs came charging around the corner.

"McGee! Stop, McGee!" Gibbs voice was harsh, full of command, the tone that Tim was used to obeying.

Tim froze for a moment and Gibbs slid to a stop, just feet away. They locked eyes. Tim wanted to. He wanted to kill the engine and tell Gibbs everything and let him take care of it all. But he couldn't. There were lives at stake. Even Gibbs', though Gibbs didn't know it.

Tim gave a tiny, regretful shake of his head, and Gibbs eyes narrowed. Tim revved the engine and spun out of the parking lot backwards, then slammed on the brake when he hit the street on the back side of the store.

He looked at Gibbs once more. He thought he read his name on his boss' lips, then he shifted to drive and punched it, spinning the tires of the chariot in disguise, leaving rubber behind as he roared around the store and onto the two-lane highway. In his rear-view mirror, the young clerk was standing in the parking lot, staring after his now stolen car. Gibbs was there as well, hands on hips and watching Tim's escape. Tim knew he wouldn't evade Gibbs forever, and he had a feeling that when Gibbs did finally catch up to him, Tim would have to pay the piper for this little stunt. But that was a worry for later. Right now, he had a deadline to meet.

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Standing in the weed-eaten asphalt parking lot of the roadside gas station, Gibbs stared after McGee as he roared down the narrow highway in his stolen car.

He'd been so close this time, and he cursed himself for letting his wayward agent slip through his fingers. It might take time to catch up to him again, but he'd find him. He sprinted the short distance to his car, but stopped short at the slit tires.

He kicked the front tire in frustration, cursing. Then he heaved a sigh and shook his head.

"Good job, Tim," Gibbs muttered, pride in McGee hidden under the anger. "Smart thinking."

He stepped forward, staring after the long disappeared car driven by his man. He sighed again.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS**

**Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. I was very excited to see reviews from**

**some of my favorite authors, and I found a few more after checking the profile of my reviewers. Thank you!**

**Chapter 2 **

Tim's phone chirped, signalling a text message. He pulled the phone from his pocket, squinting at the screen in the low evening light. He had to wait for clues from her, because if he tried texting or calling her, she would be put in danger if she hadn't found a chance for privacy. It was frustrating, to say the least. And he was more dependant now than ever for her texts, now that he no longer had his laptop to track the signal of her cell phone, that she'd miraculously managed to keep. It was probably a blessing in disguise, though, because he knew NCIS had likely been tracking his laptop signal, but he'd used it sparingly.

Diverting his eyes from the darkening road to the small display on the phone, Tim pressed 'Read' and saw the message she'd managed to send.

'Elvira's Diner. W'mens rm under lst sink.'

His next destination. He had no idea how close he was. For all he knew, he might not even be heading in the right direction, since he could no longer follow the signal. He was going to have to begin using the skills he'd been trained for; old fashioned investigation. He'd tried to avoid that to keep a low profile- people remembered someone that took up their time with questions- but it was now unavoidable. All he could do for now was to keep an eye out for Elvira's Diner, or a sign advertising it.

_I just hope I make it, _Tim thought, glancing at the very low gas guage. The gas was almost gone and the last time he'd checked, he was down to thirty-two cents in his pocket. When he'd last checked the signal three hours ago, which had been just minutes before he'd stopped at the little store where Gibbs had caught up to him, they'd been ahead of him by a hundred and twenty seven miles. He'd started out after them immediately four days ago, but the detours around Gibbs and his run-ins with Mutt and Jeff had made it harder for him to keep up.

Her clues had helped, though, and he hoped she would be able to continue leaving them now that he didn't have the laptop to locate a signal to follow.

_But please, please be careful, _he prayed on her behalf. She couldn't afford to get caught leaving the clues. For one thing, they would take the phone they didn't know she still had, thereby leaving him utterly clueless and making it very hard for him to stay on their trail. His biggest concern, though, was what they might do to her if they found out.

Twenty minutes later, to Tim's suprise and great relief, he passed Elvira's Diner on the side of the highway.

He was still going in the right direction, thank God.

He pulled a U-ey right on the small, carless highway to get back to the diner, then he pulled into the parking lot.

He pushed the door open and, without a glance at either the diners or the staff, he made his way to the back, where he could see the blue 'restrooms' sign pointing the way into a small alcove. Tim hoped there were no women inside when he pushed open the door to the ladies room, but he'd gone beyond the point of caring. He'd done this many times by now. It seemed her captors gave her at least this bit of privacy when necessary, and she used it to her advantage. He'd had a couple close calls with indignant ladies' room patrons, but he'd learned to ignore their suprised yells, simply apologizing and quickly finding what he was after and departing before they could lodge a compaint with someone official.

This time he was lucky and had no angry witnesses. He reached under the last sink, as she'd informed, and felt around until his fingers brushed the soft texture of paper against the cold porcelain. He pulled it free and stuffed it in his pocket, deciding he'd read it in the car.

Tim rushed back through the diner, idly realizing he was hungry and wishing he had a few dollars to get something to go. He hadn't eaten since early morning, and it was now evening. But he was broke, and he had other things to worry about. Hunger was the least of his problems at the moment.

Stepping out into the dusk of evening, he groaned inwardly when he saw the unmistakable figures of Mutt and Jeff leaning against their car, waiting for him. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with them, but it didn't seem that they were going to give him a choice.

"Hey there, Timmy," Mutt spoke first. Tim didn't know how they knew his name and he didn't know their's; he hadn't asked and they didn't seem inclined to inform him. They just looked like they'd be called Mutt and Jeff.

"I'm not going with you," Tim informed them firmly. He didn't know how these two fit into the whole scheme of things, but they were involved somehow. From the little he'd gathered, he thought they were after the same people he was following, but probably for whole different reasons. But they- or most likely, those they worked for- didn't like Tim being in the way of thier pursuit, and they were determined to remove him from the equation; or use him in it, somehow. They hadn't made any threats of any _permanent _sort of removal, but it seemed that they had orders to hold him. Tim had no intention of being held, and the ensuing scuffles and evasions had often ended in a bit of violence on both parts, and Tim had discovered two things: One, that they had no compunctions against using harsh force, and two, niether did he, and he'd either been lucky enough or skillfull enough up to this point to evade them or escape them at each encounter. He just hoped his luck would hold.

"What make you think you have a choice?" That came from the muscular Blonde Tim had appointed as 'Jeff'. Jeff's relaxed pose was a deception; Tim could see his readiness to move at a moment's notice, his muscles bunched for action, and his past scuffles with these two had taught Tim to niether trust these two or underestimate them.

"You say that every time," Tim reminded him caustically, "and you don't have me yet." He'd learned not to show feat to these two. They knew how to use it.

"You've been lucky," Mutt said, voicing Tim's own opinion. Mutt was darker than his counterpart, with olive skin and dark hair, but no less bulky. Tim suspected these two were often used for intimidation and back-up muscle by whomever they worked for. They both had the looks of the 'dumb brutes' or 'hired muscle' that would be found in so many of Tony's oft repeated tv shows. Tim wondered off-handly what Magnum PI would do to get rid of these guys for good. Then Tim wondered why he was channeling Tony at such a time.

"Luck?" Tim asked, faking flippantly. "I don't think so. I think it's brains over brawn."

Mutt and Jeff pushed themselves off their car simultaneously and advanced on him slowly. Tim widened his stance, ready to resort to fisticuffs once again.

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"DiNozzo," Gibbs said into his cell phone. "I've got McGee's car. I'm having it sent to NCIS."

"Did you get 'im, Boss?"

Gibbs glanced to the service bay, where his two tires were being changed. "No. Not yet. But I'm also sending his little portable computer with the car."

"His portable...? Oh. You mean his laptop."

"Well yeah, DiNozzo. What'd you think I meant? Have Abby look at it. I know McGee didn't mean to leave it behind, so there's probably something useful on it. Maybe it'll tell us something."

"Got it, Boss. If you've got Probie's car, does that mean you've seen him?"

"I saw him."

"How....how'd he look, Boss?"

Gibbs paused. He'd been suprised at what he'd seen, and worried. McGee had had a wild look to his eyes, frantic almost. And he'd looked exhausted and a little gaunt. Run down, for sure.

"Okay, DiNozzo," Gibbs finally said, a little white lie. "McGee looked okay." Gibbs knew the pause on the other end meant Tony didn't really buy it, but he let it go.

Instead, Tony asked, "What's going on with him, Boss? What is he doing?"

Gibbs' voice softened at the worry present in Tony's tone. "I don't know yet, DiNozzo, but I intend to find out. Hopefully, Abby can get something off that computer."

"Why won't you let me and Ziva help you, Boss? Do you know something we don't? You could use us out there."

"I need you more right where you are, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered curtly, making sure his lead agent nixed any plans to try and join him on his manhunt. "I need you to run the investigation from NCIS, and I need you and Ziva to take care of things on that end. We don't really know what's going on. For all we know, McGee might head back on his own when he's finished with this little jaunt."

Neither of them believed that, but Tony just said, "Okay, Boss." The both knew this wouldn't be the last time Tony would bring up the matter of joining Gibbs.

"Call me if anything useful is found in the car or on the computer. They should both be there by tomorrow morning." Gibbs disconnected without waiting for a reply.

What he'd told Tony was partially the truth, but not one hundred percent. Gibbs _did_ need the remainder of his team to handle things from that end, but mostly, he just didn't want them too involved yet. Gibbs didn't know what they were dealing with. Something was obviously going on with McGee, something not so good, and possibly against his will. Gibbs couldn't shake the idea that McGee was in danger somehow, and he didn't want to put the others in danger as well. Not until they knew what was going on. Besides, this little cross-country road trip wasn't exactly sanctioned by the director. Vance wouldn't be happy when he found out two of his agents were effectively AWOL, and he _would _find out. If Gibbs was going to put his career on the line, it was going to be _his _career, and not his agents'.

A whislte brought his attention to the service bay. The mechanic that had changed his tires was waving him over. His car was ready.

_Good, _thought Gibbs. _Time to catch up to McGee._

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS.**

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews! **

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**Chapter 3**

Tim wished desperately for some coffee. Could a man go to prison for holding up a convenience store if all he took was a cup of coffe? He was almost desperate enough to find out.

It wasn't too late, really, just a little after eight pm, but he'd been going non-stop for days on miminal sleep, very little food and occassional adrenaline rushes that spiked for a while then left him drained. The evening had darkened into an early hour of night, and the dark and the car's headlights on the never-ending road were making his eyes heavy. But if he could get to the motel that she'd overheard her captors mention, the one she'd left in her clue..... That was all the motivation Tim needed. He'd have her then. Getting her away would be just another step in his mission, then they'd be on their way and she'd be safe. As usual, he had the car floored, and he was more grateful than he could voice that this vehicle had such a sweet engine. It handled the high speed drive wonderfully.

But even sweet engines needed gas. Tim glanced again at the gas gauge. He had a decision to make. He had no money for gas. He'd have to risk stealing it, or trading for another car- another auto theft, but that was such a minor thing in the large scheme of things. But even a few minutes to stop for gas- even without that pesky inconvenience of taking the time to pay for it- was more time than he could afford to lose, and finding another car would take even longer. Besides, he'd kind of come to like this very ugly but smooth running oldie. But did he have enough gas to get where he had to be?

Maybe, but not likely, and running out of gas on the side of the road was _not _an acceptable option. So there really was no decision at all, he realized, his thoughts running slower than molasses in his exhaustion.

Gas theft it is. He was becoming the regular wild child. Tony would be so proud.

Well....maybe not. Tony's wild child ideas were all _legal_.

Now he just hoped he could find a gas station right here on the highway. It would have to be quick and he'd have no time to get off the highway and into one of the towns. And besides, it would make his getaway quicker.

Tim kept an eye out for signs advertising gas, and after the third one, he found one that was right there on the highway. He felt lucky- and guilty- that it appeared to be a smaller, privately owned mom and pop place rather than one of the more lucrative chains. Hopefully, there wouldn't be watching cameras. It didn't even look like _these _pumps took credit cards. Tim pulled up to the nearest pump and was relieved to see the absence of those oh-so-popular notices that had been recently gracing most gas stations that stated payment would have to be made inside before the pump was turned on.

Tim pulled up to the nearest pump, nervous already- he'd never done anything like this, even as a kid. He'd been a good kid. He wondered what his parents would say if they could see him now, having already stolen a car and now about to steal the gas to fuel it. He could just imagine. And Grandma McGee! He'd recieve one of her well-known lectures, pointing finger and all.

Tim took a deep breath. The tires rolled over the little hoses that dinged inside the store, and an elderly man came ambling out.

Tim opened the door and pulled himself out with a little effort. He'd had to fight his way past Mutt and Jeff again. He'd gotten through them, barely, but not without some pain to remind him of what nuisances those two had become.

"Evenin', son. You're in luck. Was just about to close up for the night. You'll be my last customer."

"Got here just in time then," Tim said, faking a smile. He hoped it didn't come off as nervous as he felt.

"Yep. Fill 'er up?"

"Uh...sure." He hadn't realized this was a full service pump. There weren't many of those left these day. Leave it to him to find what was probably one of the last holdovers from the '50's.

Tim watched nervously as the dollar amount went up and up. He was thinking furiously. This man would be able to identify him, and the car. There was nothing he could do about that. Stealing a car, stealing gas...that was one thing, and it had become necessary in order for him to do what he had to do. But one thing Tim wasn't very reluctant to do was hurt an innocent to protect his anonymity.

He didn't want this man out there when it was time to hightail it. Too much room for a problem, an accident. Besides, he seemed like a nice man and Tim didn't want to have to see the look on his face when he realized that his last customer of the day, the nice young man he'd called 'son', was taking the gas without paying for it.

"Where ya headed?" The man asked in friendly conversation.

"Uh..." Tim knew better than to give his true destination; he was an agent, after all. He'd caught many criminals for making just that mistake. "Just sightseeing. Taking a break from work, going on a little road trip. You know."

"Sightseein', huh? Ain't nothin' worth sightseein' round these parts. You head east, though, and you get into some beautiful country. This little highway may not be able to compare to the bigger ones, or the interstate, but it still moves too fast for enjoyin' the beauty."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Not many do, son. Everybody's in too much of an all-fired hurry these days. You really want to relax, then get off this highway and take some back roads. That's what I say."

"Good idea," Tim said. "Thanks." Tim wouldn't be doing any such thing, but the old man seemed nice and it was nice of him to give him advice. He'd probably even take it, if this really were a relaxing sight-seeing road trip instead of what it really was.

The gas pump clicked, signalling that the tank was full.

"There ya go, young man. All full up. It'll be fifty two ninety-eight."

"Uh...yeah. Okay. But listen, I think I'll take your advice. Do you have a map of the area? I don't want to get lost while I'm enjoying the sights." Tim gave a strained laugh, trying to sound casual and joking.

"Sure, son. I got a few of 'em in the store. I'll grab you one. No charge."  
"Thanks," Tim said, feeling the guilt lump up in his stomach.

The man ambled to the store, and as soon as he went in and the bell jingled as the door closed, Tim quickly scrambled into the car, started it, and began to pull away. Just as he passed the store, the man stepped out.

His eyes showed suprise as Tim passed him, then anger. The man took two steps back into the store, reaching around the corner for something, then re-emerged with a double-barrel shotgun.

Tim's eyes widened in suprise and fear as, in the rear view mirror, the elderly man leveled the gun at the car and shot off a deafening round.

"Shit!" Tim exlaimed as the trunk flew open and banged against the rear window.

"You little shit!" the man was screaming as he loaded another round. "All you little punks...you people think I can afford to give that stuff away?! Third time this month, dammit!"

Again, another resounding blast from the shotgun and Tim flinched, but this one missed it's mark.

The car finally hit the asphalt of the highway, the back tires spewing up dust and gravel from the dirt parking lot as the tires churned, and Tim pulled a one-eighty to get the care facing the right direction.

He looked in the rear-view mirror. The man was standing there amidst the dust, the shotgun now pointed down, staring after the car and shaking his head angrily.

Tim winced. He'd really sunk to his lowest. He wanted to not feel guilty, since the nice old man had turned into Shotgun Pappy, but he really couldn't shake it. Then it hit him that while he was there, he should have grabbed some coffe and something to eat, just to make his life of crime complete.

When all this was over, he was definately going to have to go to church and confess, or ask forgiveness, or something.

"Sorry, Grandma McGee," Tim muttered guiltily.

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"Damn right, I seen that man, Agent Gibbs. Seemed like such a nice boy, at first. The little shit!"

"At first?" Gibbs asked. "What made you change your opinion?"

"Little bastard stole my gas! Fifty- two dollars worth! Do I look like the kinda man that can afford to give it away?"

_McGee _stole gas? From this man? "What was he driving?" Gibbs asked, putting McGee's picture away.

"Eighty-five two door Sedan. Prob'ly blue at one time, but more rust than paint, now. Souped up engine."

Gibbs nodded, accepting that the man seemed to know his cars. The description fit. Was exact, in fact. No way could there be two cars like _that_.

"What time was he here?"

"Well, it was after eight last night, I know for sure. I was about to close. And his face wasn't as pristine as his picture, Agent Gibbs."

"Pristine? Whadda you mean?"

"He was a little scruffy, dirty. And he looked like he'd been in a fight, but I didn't wanna say anythin' to him. Black eye, nose busted a little. His lips were busted open and swelled up. He do somethin'? He a criminal? Seemed nice, at first, but you just can't trust those wholesome looks no more, can ya? Once ya do somethin' like steal a man's gas, well....what's left?"

"Thank you, Mr. Simpson. You've been very helpful." So McGee had run into trouble somewhere.....did it have something to do with his little mission, or something completely incidental?

"Wait," the man exclaimed as Gibbs began to walk away. "What about my gas? That boy owes me almost fifty-three dollars!"

Gibbs sighed and rolled his eyes, then turned back to Mr. Simpson. On the tip of his tongue had been some sarcastic remark or curt dismissal, but at the last minute, Gibbs reached for his wallet and extracted a fifty-dollar bill. He set it on the counter in front of the elderly man. "There you go, Mr. Simspon. Thanks for your help."

When Gibbs had seated himself in the driver's seat of his car, he pushed speed dial on his cell phone.

"Yeah, Boss," Tony answered immediately.

"I'm on his trail again. The car and computer get there yet?"

"Just got here, Boss. We were just about to get started. Abby probably already has, with the laptop. How close on his trail, Boss?"

"I found someone that saw him around eight last night."

"That's a good fifteen hour head start, Boss."

"Ya _think, _DiNozzo? Call me when you have something." And with that, he disconnected.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story but a few OCs. How unfortunate, right? ; )**

**Thank you all for the reviews you take the time write. I love 'em! **

**A/N: Just to get an idea of what the readers like, are the chapters too long, too short or just right? Can't guarantee it'll change,lol, because the characters take over, but I like to know what is preferred on average, so I can try to deliver.**

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_Dammit, _Tim cursed to himself, his fists balled in frustration.

"Dammit!" This time it was screamed and his balled fists crashed into the rusted hood of his borrowed car. He paced furiosly back and forth in front of the car, too angry to think of his next logical step.

He'd missed them. All the signs- and the desk clerk- confirmed that they'd been here, but he'd missed them. The room was empty. They were usually pretty good about leaving behind next to nothing to point to where they'd been, except _her....._. she was leaving behind a very personal clue, each and every time, to confirm she'd been there. A few strands of her hair, broken deliberately from her head and in whatever corner they'd stashed her in long enough for her to do it. He knew it was hers; the first time, those first locks he'd found, had been unmistakable. Not because there was anything different about her hair from anyone else's, but because she'd _wanted _it to be found. She knew he'd be looking, trying to find her, trying to rescue her. That first handful of hair, and it really had been a handful because she'd wanted it to be noticed by Tim, had been wrapped and entwined with the silver necklace Tim knew so well. It had been her prized posession for years; a beautiful silver chain with a jade pendant, the back of which was inscribed with her first and middle names. There was no mistaking it; their father had given her that piece of jewelry on her sixteenth birthday,and she hadn't let it out of her posession since. Until now.

_I'll find you, Sara, _Tim vowed. _I promise I will. Please stay safe until then._

Tim breathed deeply to calm himself, then got behind the wheel of the old car, stuffing the newest strands of hair in his pocket. He winced at his sore knuckles, the result of his latest confrontation with Mutt and Jeff. There was nothing more he could do here; the desk clerk had told him all she could and he'd searched the room thouroughly, finding nothing but the hair as usual. But it didn't matter. Tim didn't care who or what got in his way, he was going to find her, and he was going to get Sara back. His little sister. And if, God forbid, he was too late to get her back alive, he'd have his vengeance, and God save the souls of those who'd harmed her. But Tim was determined; he wasn't stopping until he got his sister back, one way or another.

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"How long ago was he here?" Gibbs pressed the lady behind the check-in desk.

"Don't know," she said. "Just got on m'shift when 'e came up and started askin' questions. 'Bout eleven last night, I guess."

"What kind of questions?"

"I don't know. He was lookin' for someone. He had some pictures, was showin' me some pictures."

That was interesting. "Did you recognized anyone in the pictures he showed you?"

"I don't know, I guess."

Gibbs clenched his teeth together in annoyance. _If this woman said 'I don't know' one more time....._

"You guess. Did you or didn't you?" He had to struggle not to sound too intimidating. This wasn't a suspect or one of his team. He needed her help.

"Yeah. They was here, but they checked out just a little bit before he showed up looking for 'em. They break the law or somethin'?"

Gibbs perked up at the question. "What makes you think they broke the law?" After all, he'd been asking about Tim, not anyone else.

"I don't know. The guy yer askin' 'bout, he had a badge just like yours. Same letters, NCIS. Never heard o' that. That some kind o' special secret service type thing? Like CIA or something'?"

"No. He showed you his badge?"

"Yep. Said he was a agent, looking for some people, and he showed me pictures of 'em. An' I remembered those people, too. Cause they only got one room, but there was four of 'em. But two stayed in the car and two came in to register. I guess they thought we'd charge extra for more people, but truth is, we don't really care. We ain't the Ritz, you know, and most people just rent the rooms for a hour or two. And it ain't all truck drivers wanting showers, either, if you know what I mean." The woman laughed at her own joke, her ample bosom bouncing in her thin tshirt.

Gibbs pointedly ignored the flirtatious smirk on her lipstick-slathered lips. "And you're sure these were the people McGee- uh, the other guy- was asking about?"

"Yep. He had pictures."

"Do you remember anything else about those four people? Anything they might have said or done that seemed strange or off?"

"I don't know.....kinda, but not really. I watched 'em drive over to the room. They all four went in, but they didn't take no bags or luggage. And it was two guys and two women, one o' the girls younger than the other people. She looked kinda young. They held her when they went in- her arms, you know?- they seemed like they was holdin' onto her or somethin'."

"And you didn't think to check up on the situation or call authorities?" Gibbs asked harshly. He didn't know who these people were, but if McGee was interested in them, they had to be important.

"Hey," the woman said, suddenly defensive, "I said it seemed kinda off, but 'round here, you never know. Like I said, we ain't the Ritz, just a little no-tell motel on the side of the highway between two nothin' little towns. I seen lots worse, and most of it ain't been against no-one's will, and it ain't my business, anyhow. If you wanna know who was acting strange, it was the other man. The one with the bruised face and same badge as yours."

"How do you mean?" Gibbs felt his gut tighten.

"He was actin' all....I don't know.....his eyes were kinda wild and he had dark circles. He was kinda rude. Impatient, you know? And mad. He got mad when I told him them people checked out already, and he took the key to the room. Didn't even ask! Just reached over here an' took it off the wall, when I told him what room they was in. I was scared he was a druggie or somethin', wondered if he was gonna rob me. But he brought the key back and left a few minutes later. But he was still mad."

Gibbs didn't know what to make of all that, but he knew he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. That was totally out of character for the usually mild-mannered and polite McGee he knew. And what was all this about him looking for someone? Four someones, if the desk clerk's story was accurate. Obviouly, if what she said was true, then Tim was on someone's trail- two men and two women, one maybe a girl- and he'd tracked them to this roach trap of a motel and become angry when he'd missed them. Hmm. Gibbs' mind went into overdrive with the possibilities. A kidnapped teen, perhaps? Plausible, but that didn't explain why Tim hadn't alerted authorities if he suspected a kidnapping.

"What name did they register under?"

The lady reched for a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached to it- no computer records for this place- and slid it in front of him. She pointed to the last name on the sign in sheet.

J. Smith. Figured. "They paid in cash, I suppose?"

"Yep."

"Do you have surveillance anywhere around the property?"

"I don't know. You mean like cameras and stuff? Yeah, we got one right there-" Gibb's followed her pointed finger to see an old model video camera tucked up high in a corner. It was aimed at the desk and register. "- and we're s'posed to have one outside where the cars pull up, but I don't know if it works."

_Hopefully they both work, _Gibbs thought, turning his attention back to the woman. "Do you remember anything from the pictures he showed you?"

"Well, I remember the girl was kinda pretty, but I only saw her picture, she was the one that stayed in the car with one o' the men. And her picture was different than the pictures of the others' when the guy showed me. The others' pictures were hard to see, like they were took far away and with a bad camera. And they were on paper, like they was printed on a computer or somethin'. It was kinda hard to even make out their faces. But the girl's picture was like a portrait or school picture or somethin', but wallet size. Real clear, professional. Pretty girl. But the man and woman that came in, I could describe 'em, but they'll probably be easy to see on that camera," she explained, pointing to the one in the upper corner.

Gibbs nodded, filing that information away for later. "Show me where the tapes are recorded from those cameres," Gibbs ordered the woman. Screw trying to be polite. Tim was in some kind of trouble,his gut told him so, and he had to find out what.

"Back this way," the woman gestured to a door-less office behind her. "I don't think them others took the tapes, just watched 'em."

Gibbs stopped in his tracks and turned back to face her. "Others?"

"The others. You know, the others," the woman insisted. "You're partners or whatever. Two big guys. They said they was agents, too, askin' for them same people. Real interested in the bruised one, the one you're looking for."

"What did they want to know?" This didn't sound good at all. Someone else was looking for McGee? Two people claiming to be agents? The urgency Gibbs felt to find McGee tripled. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Same things as you. Was he here, how long ago, which way he headed. They was here 'bout a half hour before you pulled up."

"And you gave them this information?" Gibbs asked coldly, but his attitude was lost on the woman.

"Yep," she answered proudly. "I'll help you official types any way I can."

Gibbs had to hold back a snide reply; this woman had no idea what she might have done, she was an innocent in all this. A fool, but innocent.

"I'll need to see those tapes now," Gibbs insisted. He'd scan the tapes for those 'agents', too. Gibbs wondered for a moment if he should continue this on his own. It was getting complicated, and there was clearly more to it than even he had imagined. He pushed the thought away angrily. He wanted to hear what Tim had to say about it all first, and to do that, he had to find him. Gibbs just hoped he didn't regret that decision later.

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Tim snapped awake at the blaring of a horn to see a pickup truck bearing down on him head on. He instinctively jerked the wheel, whipping his car back into the correct lane, then over the line, and he stomped on the brake. Gravel spewed as the car skidded on the soft shoulder, finally coming to a stop after sliding for several seconds. Tim coughed, choking on the cloud of dust that assailed his lungs and sinuses through the half-open window on his side of the car.

His heart racing, his hands shaking, Tim opened the door and stepped out, eyes following the tailgate of the pickup. Didn't look like they were going to stop or turn around; good. Tim had already made himself conspicuous and known to far too many people in the past five days; the less people to see him, the better.

Not only did he have to avoid Mutt and Jeff, but Gibbs and the team knew very well how to track someone by eye-witness reports, and if they caught up to him, he'd stand no chance of finding Sara. Mutt and Jeff he could fight, decieve and evade, but Tim knew that if Gibbs got his hands on him, he'd never be given the chance to slip his custody; and what's more, Tim would almost be afraid to try. That didn't mean he wouldn't, under the current circumstances, but he didn't like thinking of the possible consequences. Such things didn't matter at the moment, but he didn't know how all this was going to end, and one way or another he was probably going to have to face Gibbs again someday, and that wasn't something he wanted marked against him on Gibbs' list of 'reasons to kick McGees ass'.

He'd already evaded his boss far longer than he'd ever have thought possible, and much of it was due to the fact that Tim was resorting to acts that he- and Gibbs- had never thought possible of him. Once Gibbs began to think like the _new _Tim instead of the old one, it would be game over, unless Tim could stay far enough ahead of him.

Tim wondered if Gibbs was actually still his boss. If anything was worth termination of an agent, Tim had probably already done it. But he didn't think NCIS had a whole force out looking for him, or any other branch of law enforcement, because he'd been scanning the radio news as he drove and had heard nothing. They could be keeping it from the media, but that seemed unlikely. And Tim knew Gibbs well enough to understand that even as loyal as the man was to his country and NCIS, the former Marine was often _just _this side of going rogue if it meant protecting the friends he thought of as family; namely, his team. Tim had seen it before. Gibbs would put himself out there on the line, often against orders and occassionaly even slightly illegaly, to stand up for or protect one or more of them.

Tim couldn't let him do that this time. It's not that he hadn't _wanted _to alert authorites; Tim would have been the happiest man alive if there were hordes of officials out there looking for his sister, because it felt like such a daunting mission for just one man, and he despaired of her being found alive. His first instinct had been to confide in the team, hand it over to Gibbs to take care of in that way he handled everything. He'd love to be accepting Abby's comforting hugs and Ziva's polite but meaningful assurances. He craved Tony's off- the- wall movie analogies and childish behavior as a distraction from his fears. He'd even happily put up with Ducky's amateur pshyco-analysis of Tim's grief and worry.

But there had been the note. The note and the pictures. He'd had a choice that wasn't really a choice.

Choice one. Come alone to where they were holding Sarah and she'd be freed. He hadn't believed that for an instant, but thought it might give him a chance to bargain for her life, because it had been the only real decision he could make.

Because choice two stated that he could alert police or his team, but Sara would be killed immediately, and each member of his team would suffer the same fate. The threat against Sarah would probably have been sufficient to gain his compliance, but apparently they'd wanted all their bases covered.

Under other circumstances, Tim would have laughed at the assumption that the everyday joe or two-bit criminal thought they could take out the team, just like _that_. Gibbs' team were the best, after all, and weren't exactly amateurs. But pictures had been included with the note, stuffed neatly into a large manilla envelope, calling Tim's bluff before he had a chance to scoff.

There was a picture of each member of the team, and not just Gibbs, Tony and Ziva. There were also pictures of Abby, Ducky, even Jimmy. And for good measure, the people Tim had worked with in the Cyber Crimes Unit as well as a few other agents around the office that Tim was friendly with.

The pictures of Tim's acquaintances were distant shots, as if they'd been spotted on the street or driving when the photos were snapped. Tim wouldn't want anyone at all to be harmed because of him, but it was obvious that the picture-takers knew where most of Tim's affections lay because the pictures of the team were much more intimate, and because of that, much more threatening.

Gibbs was in his own driveway, his arms full of lumber and most of his back to the camera. A bright red laser-dot was centered exactly where the shot would have to enter to hit his heart from behind.

Abby was at the bowling alley surrounded by nuns. One of the nuns next to Abby was waving at the camera and smiling cheerfully, though Abby, herself, seemed unaware that she was being photographed, though the camera was obviously no further away than the next lane.

Ziva's postioning in her picture indicated that she was getting into her car, though she was looking off to her left with a frown on her face. Tim recognized the expression he'd seen on her face before, and he wondered if she'd felt herself being watched. The shot had obviously been taken from the vehicle right next to hers, it was that close. The picture was clear but it was obvious that the photographer had hidden below her line of sight. The less brazen postion of Ziva's photographer compared to Abby's indicated that the Mossad liason's reputation was known, and care was taken to be invisible. Behind Ziva, Tim recognized the gym she frequented on her days off to work out.

Tony's picture was one of the two most disturbing. Tony had been photograghed as he'd lain stomach down along his couch at home. He was dressed down in sweats and a tshirt, only socks on his feet and his hair mussed, obviously enjoying some down-time on one of their days off. Tim had been in Tony's apartment often enough for Tim to recognize that the picture had been taken from inside Tony's home, from behind a slatted closet door in the hallway behind Tony. The intrusive nature was what made it so disturbing to Tim.

Ducky was snapped going into the elderly care facility Tim knew Ducky's mother now lived. Like the others, it too was a close up, obviously meant to show Tim that these people could get to his friends any time they needed to.

The other picture that disturbed Tim as much as Tony's was the one taken of Jimmy Palmer, also because of the location. Palmer was photographed right there in autopsy, through what looked like the window of Ducky's dark office. Jimmy, intent on his task of paperwork at a desk in the main room, seemed completely unaware that he was sharing the space with an intruder.

It was obvious to Tim that these people, whoever they were, had gone to great lenghts and taken some risks to insure Tim's cooporation, Sara's abduction not the least of them. And they'd done their homework; they knew where each of the team live and hung out, even how to get into their homes or into NCIS. So what choice had he? There was only one thing he could've done, and that was to do as they wanted, go where they'd told him to. It was obvious Tim was the center of whatever was going on; they wanted _him _for some reason and had done everything possible to find a way to control him. And it had worked.

The problem was, when he got to the location they'd sent him to, it was empty, abandoned, and it was obvious they'd left in a hurry. Tim figured that was where Mutt and Jeff's boss or bosses came in; Tim knew what it looked like when someone was fleeing a scene, and that's exactly what Sara's kidnappers had done, and they'd taken Sara with them. It was in that building where he'd found Sara's hair for the first time, wrapped around her jade necklace, proving she'd been there. And the hunt was on.

Tim shook himself from his thoughts. It did him no good to obsess over the circumstances. He just needed to concentrate of finding Sara. It hit McGee for the first time since he'd left his car with Gibbs, though, that he'd left the envelope of photos in the other car. He'd hidden them under the seat cover on the passenger side. He missed the photos, actually, frightening as they were. He'd pored over them numerous times, looking for clues in the shots, finding nothing, but it had almost been like having his friends there with him. Nothing he could do about it now, though. Gibbs had the car, therefore he had the photos. The team had no doubt by now pieced at least some of it together, which, Tim knew, would make them more determined to find him. _They're going to be so pissed, _Tim inner-voice warned him, but he shut it up. He knew that, but it was done, and whether he'd made the right choices remained to be seen.

Tim's head nodded forward and he slumped against the car. Reluctantly, he came to the forgone conclusion that he had no choice but to get some sleep. These were the times that frustrated Tim the most; his body's need for things like rest. He could put it off for only so long before his body decided for him, but he hated stopping for even that long, knowing Sara could very well be getting further away.

But it wouldn't help Sara in the slightest if Tim got himself killed by falling asleep at the wheel. And to be honest, it had scared the bejeezus out of him. Tim glanced at his watch; it was only noon, but it had been almost fourty-eight hours since he'd last let himself sleep.

Back in the car, Tim drove for another mile, finally turning off at the first opportunity. Turning right and following a dusty, unpaved gravel road, he soon found a suitable area to pull off. Trees lined the little road thickly, but Tim's searching eyes found a spot that the car could handle safely, leaving the road for a small clearing in the trees. Branches and limbs scraped the body of the car with loud squeals, but Tim didn't think it would make any difference to the old car, and it couldn't make it look any worse.

Though Tim was reluctant to have to sleep, he couldn't deny the need, and the moment he'd stretched out across the car's bench seat he felt his eyelids pulling themselves closed. The area he'd picked seemed perfect for sleeping. The tiny clearing was far enough off the road that it would be hard to see, and it was cool, shaded from the sun by the trees. It was almost comfortable.

_I wish I had Jethro here, _Tim thought as he began to drift off. _He would love these woods. _

Tim had almost brought Jethro with him, but had changed his mind at the last moment. There were moments, though, that Tim became lonely or depressed, wishing for company, and at those times he wished he'd brought Jethro along. Despite thier violent first meeting, Tim had come to love Jethro, but the dog would have needed the same care on the road as he did at home. Even before leaving town, Tim had suspected he wouldn't have either the time, energy or resourses to take care of Jethro the way the dog deserved once they'd hit the road. So he'd closed his ears to Jethro's whines and left him in his apartment, taping a hastily scribbled note to his neighbor's apartment door on his way out. Tim knew Jethro would be taken care of while he was gone if he enlisted the service of the woman that walked the dog every day while Tim was at work. The minute she found the note explaining that he'd 'had to leave town right away for a case at work', his neighbor Karen would Take Jethro under her wing until Tim returned.

_Maybe I should get Karen to explain that to Abby later so Abby doesn't kill me for leaving Jethro alone, _Tim thought, then chastised himself for thinking random thoughts when he needed to make his mind go quiet enough to sleep. And besides, thinking about Abby had doubled his loneliness, and Tim wished fervently for someone to talk to. He just needed to hear a friendly voice, words that would reassure him. He needed to hear the voice of one of his friends.

_If they're still my friends, _Tim's inner-voice said, but Tim quickly shut it up. That wasn't something he needed to think about, and anyway, he'd set the alarm on his pre-paid cell phone to wake him in two hours, so he needed to stop thinking. Maybe then his brain would follow his body's example and let him get a little rest.

Tim pulled Sarah's jade pendant necklace from his pocket and held it tightly, finally letting himself slip into the darkness of sleep.

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"What _kind _of photos, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled into his phone.

"Of _us_, Boss, _all _of us, and a few others here in the building! But they weren't taken in the building, Boss, except the autopsy gremlin's. They're freaky, scary photos, Boss.....not that I'm scared of course, because Tony DiNozzo doesn't do scared, but if something _was _to scare me this might be-"

"DiNozzo!" Gibb's barked to bring his senior field agent back to his senses. It must be _something _to freak DiNozzo out like that, but it didn't do either of them, or Tim, any good at all for them to waste time on theatrics. They must have been hidden, too, because Gibbs and given a cursory check in the glove compartment and trunk of the car.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said on the other end of the phone after several seconds. "These photos, Boss, they're clearly threats. But they were sent to McGee instead of us, so my guess is that someone's using him for something and using us for leverage."

"So these photos are threatening?"

"Majorly, Boss. I'll send them to your phone for you to check out later."

"And you'll be getting some tapes for Abby to go through. I scanned them already, but some of the footage is hard to make out. I'm sure Abby can do something with it, though."

"Tapes of who, Boss?"

"That's what you guys are gonna tell _me_, DiNozzo, as soon as Abby can clean it up. I've sent it by courier and put a rush on it. You should get 'em soon. These are six persons of interest; four at the hotel desk can be seen clearly, but we need them ID'd, and two in a vehicle that are hard to see, can't make 'em out."

" What the hell is going on, Boss? This is getting big."

"I don't know, DiNozzo, that's what I plan to find out."

"Me and Ziva should join you. We can be there in-"

"Yeah?" Gibbs interrupted. "And who's gonna keep and eye on Abby, Ducky and Palmer? You said it yourself, DiNozzo, the photos are threats. They might need protection, and that's you and Ziva."

A pause, then "Boss, maybe we should tell Vance. We could have a hundred people out looking for Probie in an hour."

"Is that what you wanna do, Tony?" Gibbs asked sincerely.

"Do _you_?"

"What I want is to find McGee."

"Can you?"

Gibbs detected no doubt in Tony's question, just cautious sincerity. He really wanted to know if Gibbs thought he could find McGee, and this was part of Tony's job as Gibbs' second in command. It was Tony's job to play devil's advocate to Gibbs, as unpopular as that position could be.

Gibbs didn't bother answering the question; he wasn't sure he _could _answer it. Instead, he said, "Tell you what, DiNozzo.....you're running the investigation on that end, you're in charge over there while I'm gone. You do what you think you have to do, okay? You wanna clue in Vance, then do it. But either way, I'm staying out here and I'm not backing off McGee's trail till I find him. Just keep me posted and do what you gotta do to keep the others safe. I'd better not come back and find out anything's happened to any of them."

Gibbs heard dead air for several seconds, and he knew Tony was debating. "Okay, Boss.....bring him home, okay? I'll keep you in the loop, and everyone will be here when you two get back."

Gibbs didn't reply and he knew Tony wasn't expecting him too. Instead, Gibbs simply disconnected the call. Tony would have been proud to see Gibbs' approving nod.

Gibbs wondered how long it would be before Tony disregarded his orders and joined him.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated with it.**

**Thank you, thank you for all the great reviews!**

**A/N: I apologize beforehand to any of my readers that might be males named Leslie! ; )**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Tap tap tap._

_Must be raining, _Tim's exhausted subconscious muttered, but his body didn't rouse. It couldn't be time to get ready for work yet.

_Tap tap tap._

This time the rhythmic tapping was accompanied by a tickling sensation on Tim's cheek, and this finally elicited a response. Tim's hand lifted groggily to bat the offender away, and Tim twisted a little in his confined space- _I always wrap my blankets in my sleep_- to find a more comfortable position.

"Can't you wait till morning, Jethro?" he slurred.

Jethro snickered, then the snicker turned into a bark of laughter.

Tim's eyes snapped open, his sleep-addled brain remembering that he wasn't at home twisted in his own blankets in his own bed- _and that's definitely not Jethro- _and that he was looking up at two grinning faces, upside down in his prone potion.

"Gotcha," gloated Mutt, staring down at Tim, _tap tap tapping_ his fingers against the half open window once again.

Jeff just sneered and tossed away the long weed that Tim suspected had been the source of the tickling on his face.

Staring up into the two brutes' faces, Tim knew he was in a bad position; lying on his back in the confined space of the car, there was nothing for him to do but groan at his bad luck and sigh in resignation. They had him, and he knew it as well as they did. For now.

"Out," Jeff demanded with a gesture, and Tim sighed again, then sat up and emerged from the car. To Tim's gratification, both burly men took a step back and widened their stances, prepared for anything.

"You couldn't at least let me get my whole two hours sleep?" Tim groused, making a show of his discontent. He'd learned that those two had the same characteristics as all bullies. Showing fear simply drew their attention to possible entertainment. Just before Tim slammed the car door, his eye caught the bright green pendant lying on the car seat, right next to his phone. He reached in and grabbed both quickly, with one hand, and stuffed them in his pocket just as each of the men seized an arm.

Tim smirked. Apparently they'd learned not to underestimate him, a fact that surprised Tim as much as them. They'd been chasing him for five days, catching up to him numerous times, but this was he first time they'd actually had him in their custody. They'd mistaken Tim's quick snatching of the items as an attempt of some kind in their jumpiness.

They quickly restrained Tim with a white plastic tie around his wrists that they tightened to the point of pain, but Tim was just glad that his hands were restrained in front of him rather than behind. An experimental pull proved that he wouldn't easily escape, and he received chafed skin for his trouble. They hadn't patted him down, though, or searched him. _Amateurs, _Tim scoffed to himself. _Gibbs would head-smack us into next week if we didn't bother checking someone after cuffing them. _Not that Tim was complaining. He still had his knife strapped to his ankle and his phone in his pocket, and he would have been devastated if they'd taken Sara's necklace from him. He couldn't imagine why they hadn't bothered to see what he'd stuffed into his pocket; he'd tried to hide the phone cupped in the palm of his hand, but the necklace had dangled free, in full view. Maybe they hadn't seen the phone? It didn't seem as if they had.

"Get in," Mutt ordered, pulling open the back door of their own vehicle, a much nicer one than the one Tim had stolen. Tim was willing to bet, though, that for all the newness of this more modern vehicle, that the engine didn't sound near as good as the one he'd been driving.

He sighed at the loss of the car and hoped he could get it back to it's proper owner eventually.

Tim settled himself in the back passenger seat, and Jeff reached in and pulled the shoulder seat belt across his chest and over his abdomen, buckling it.

"Get comfy," Jeff smirked. "This is where you stay. You unbuckle and I'll know."

"And just in case you're wondering," Mutt threw in with a mocking grin, "the back doors have child locks engaged. You can't open them from inside."

_Good to know, _Tim thought as the door was slammed, confining him to his little corner of the backseat. But he still couldn't help giving his door a quick try before Mutt and Jeff joined him in the car, seating themselves up front.

They hadn't lied.

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"Whatta ya got, Abs," Gibbs said immediately on answering his phone.

"Hello, Gibbs," Abby said pointedly.

Gibbs sighed. "Hello, Abby. What've you got?"

"I've missed talking to you, Gibbs. You've been gone five days and you haven't called me once! Don't you miss me?"

"I miss you, Abs. Now tell me what you've got. Did you ID the six in the tapes?"

Abby seemed to understand that it was time to get down to business, because she didn't continue what Gibbs knew could turn into a whole tirade, answering his question instead.

"Yep. And it's pretty big. First off, we know why Tim took off after these people. They've got Sara, Gibbs!"

"Sara?" Gibbs asked for clarification, then his mind snapped in that way it does when all the pieces finally start to fit. "You mean Sara McGee? His sister?"

"The one and only, Gibbs, and you have to get her back! What if she's being hurt? And poor Timmy's probably out of his mind, worrying about her."

"I'll find her, Abs. And him, too," he said in an attempt to calm her down. He wondered how many Caf Pows she'd sucked down already. "So we know Tim's motivation. What about the others? The ones that have Sara, and the other two?"

"Okay. I'm sending their idents to your phone but here's the rundown. The three that have Sara have rap sheets miles long. Two of them have been _accused_ several times of extortion, harassment and threats, assault, attempted murder and murder on various degrees. None of the allegations ever stuck, though. They've always managed to weasel out somehow and neither of them have ever done time. The other guy went a whole different route with his life of crime, and he's just recently been released from state jail for, and I quote, 'intrusion into sensitive and confidential government files by way of remote access', unquote. He's a hacker, Gibbs!"

"Hacker."

"Yeah. Kinda like Tim, only he does it illegally. Well, I guess Tim does, too, cause _no_ hacking is legal, you know, but at least Tim-"

"You said 'he'," Gibbs interrupted her sternly, and Abby quieted. Gibbs knew she could go on forever if given the chance. "So that means one of the _alleged_ murderers is the woman?"

"Righto, my silver haired fox! She's one tough customer. Her rap sheet's longer than her 'alleged comrade in arms'. Sara's keeping not-so-good company right now."

"What about the other two?"

"That's where it gets even more interesting, Gibbs. Listen to _this_."

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"So.....you guys got anything to eat?" Tim asked from the backseat.

"Sorry," Jeff, the driver, smirked at Tim in the mirror. "Feeding time at the zoo is over."

"I think you need a shower more than you need food, Timmy-boy," Mutt taunted. "God, you stink!"

Tim didn't bother to answer. He knew he was less than pristine. He was filthy, clothes and all, with dust and grime, sweat, and old blood. The first couple days, Tim had rented motel rooms for a shower and bed for a few hours at a time, and he'd had clothes to change into. But for the bigger part of the last three days he'd been broke, and then he'd lost his clothes with his car, and he'd also become more determined and obsessed to keep up with Sara and ahead of Gibbs; there just hadn't been room for things like a shower.

But Tim didn't care. As far as he was concerned, it was a small payback to the two goons for stuffing him into the car.

"How do you know who I am?" Tim asked. They'd used his name several times in their encounters, but he hadn't exactly taken the time to ask. But now, it seemed, he was in the perfect position to find out as much as he could.

"We know lots of things, _Timmy_," Mutt answered.

"Fine. So you know me, or at least about me, for some reason. Does that mean you know what I'm doing out here?"

"Of course." Jeff didn't elaborate, so Tim didn't bother to expand on it. Jeff could, of course, be lying, in which case Tim didn't want to give them any information they didn't already know. He didn't really think Jeff was lying, but Tim decided to err on the side of caution.

"So you're in this with _them_?" No explanation was needed who 'them' was, if these two really knew who what he'd been up to. Tim was pretty sure they weren't, but he didn't have any other ideas of why they might have been trying to catch up with him.

His found that his suspicions were correct when he caught the two of them sharing an amused glance with each other, Mutt uttering his trademark snicker.

"Not exactly," Jeff explained to Tim through his rear view mirror. With another glance of humor at his partner, he said "We're a little more....._organized_.....than that, if you catch my drift."

"Organized? As in....._organized_?" Surely they couldn't mean what Tim thought they meant. Why would an organized crime operation have any interest in him?

"That's right," Mutt gloated. "How do you feel about us now?"

"You guys? Nothing. You're obviously just the flunkies, the background muscle," Tim said, almost stunned at his own bravery. Or was it stupidity? Maybe he was channeling Tony again. Tony never knew when to shut his mouth, and he always got worse in the tensest moments.

Mutt turned around in his seat, reached back with his muscled arms, and gave Tim's head a hard shove. Tim's head, as Mutt had untented, bounced off the window hard enough for Tim to see black spots in front of his eyes. A painful goose egg began forming immediately, adding to the bruises already marring Tim's face.

"Big words for a man with his hands tied," Mutt taunted as he turned back to face forward.

"Good one, Leslie," Jeff laughed, complimenting his blonde counterpart.

"Leslie?" Tim asked in what felt like glee. He didn't stop to think better it. "_Leslie_? You're kidding me. Your name is Leslie." That name was as far from fitting the bullish, muscled blonde man as would be calling Gibbs a kitten.

"What of it?" Leslie snapped. That was obviously a sensitive subject. "There's nothing wrong with that name. My father and grandfather had that name. It's a _manly_ name."

"Whatever you say, _Leslie." _This time the teasing came from the driver's seat, from Mutt/Leslie's own partner.

This time, it was Tim's turn to snicker, but it just resulted in Mutt/Leslie reaching back in fury and socking Tim in the stomach.

Jeff laughed while Mutt/Leslie pouted. Tim said nothing, just tried to regain his breath and fight down his gag reflex as he stayed bent almost double over his lap.

It was at that moment that Tim's phone beeped insistently from his hip pocket.

"What's that?" Jeff demanded, staring at Tim through the rear view.

"My watch," Tim lied, his voice still thick with the pain of the gut-punch. "I had it set to wake me up."

Jeff's glance flicked to Tim's wrists, both of which were glaringly lacking a timepiece. Tim had lost it days ago, and he had no idea where. "It's in my pocket," Tim explained quickly.

"Well shut it off," Jeff ordered, returning his eyes to the road. Mutt, as Tim was too used to referring him as to change it, said nothing and seemed to take no interest in the exchange.

Tim slipped his hand into his pocket, awkwardly in the restraint, and pushed a button on the phone, getting the right one just by luck and quieting the beep. It would have stopped soon on it's own anyway, Tim knew, because it wasn't the alarm, which he'd shut off earlier, but the tone that signaled a text message. _Sara's_ text message. Another tidbit to inform him where she was or where she was headed.

Tim waited several minutes, watching Jeff closely to determine that he wasn't watching Tim through his mirror. When Tim felt it was safe enough to move some without suspicion, he slipped his hand back into his pocket, feeling for his phone. It was a hard reach, because the phone had slid deeper and the tie around Tim's wrists restricted him. Tim forced his hand deeper, ignoring the pain of the plastic tie pulling at his other wrist, and stretched his legs out a little to loosen the pocket. Jeff's eyes flicked to Tim in the mirror, and Tim stretched his back and shifted position on the seat in an obvious way to disguise what he was really doing. When Jeff's eyes returned to the road, Tim finally got his finger tips around the small phone and pulled it out slowly.

Holding it down out of view between his leg and the car door, Tim glanced down at the screen.

'into KY. Harlan.'

So. They'd crossed the border into Harlan, Kentucky. Tim closed his eyes and tried to imagine the atlas he'd had a couple days ago. Had he seen Harlan? Yes! It was the first town over the border from Virginia to Kentucky. Tim's eyes snapped open and he took in his current course.

They were headed in the wrong direction. Whatever Mutt and Jeff's bosses wanted with him, they were taking him off his course for it.

Tim felt that urgent obsessed need that had become familiar in the past couple days to get back on course and resume his hunt. Those people, whoever they were, were taking Sara further away, and Tim's 'escorts' were dragging him in the wrong direction.

It took all of Tim's will power not to scream at them to Stop! Turn around! He had to change course!

Tim's hands balled into fists in his effort at control. He knew it wouldn't help, they would only laugh at his demands and desperation.

He had to get away. Before, he'd thought he would simply wait for his chance and go, but Tim was no longer willing to do that. He couldn't afford to just wait. They'd already taken Sara across one border and Tim didn't know how far they planned on going, or why, and his struggles to catch up with her were now being reversed by the two idiots in the front seat. And he instinctively knew that if he waited too long it would be too late. Tim had the not-so-irrational fear that if he lost her trail again, they'd just take her further and further away and he'd never find her.

Screw _waiting_ for his chance. Tim was going to have to _make_ his chance, and as soon as he could.

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"Whadda you mean you lost the signal, Abs?" Gibbs demanded into the phone.

"It just stopped, Gibbs! I've been tracking Sarah's phone signal, like I told you, and I didn't really think I'd catch it, cause it has to be actively in use. But then, whammo! I got it! It looks like a text, but it was active for a few minutes. I was following it, but before I could get a lock on it, it disappeared. And not just inactive, but like......non-existent."

"So you didn't get Sara's location?"

"No. Sorry, Gibbs."

"Don't apologize. It was a good try. Let me talk to DiNozzo."

"Tony? Uh....Tony. Right. Well, he's not here at the moment, Gibbs."

"Where _is_ he?"

"Not really sure, Gibbs," Abby answered hesitantly, and Gibbs knew right away she was keeping something from him, but Gibbs didn't have the time to glean the information from her at the moment. He knew he could get it when he needed to with a simple order, and he had other things to worry about than DiNozzo's current shenanigans.

Likely, he was up to something juvenile but clever in an attempt to keep the wool pulled over Vance's eyes, and Abby didn't want to rat him out or get him into trouble. And to be honest, Gibbs often felt much better about leaving DiNozzo to handle things if he didn't know exactly how DiNozzo was handling them. As long as DiNozzo did what was necessary to get things done, Gibbs didn't usually mind dealing with the possible fallout later, when he was back in charge. _Usually_. Of course, that didn't exclude DiNozzo from a Gibbs-style chiding; that was _his_ job, and it would prepare DiNozzo for when he had his own team in the future. There were always consequences for certain actions, and by then, DiNozzo would have learned to weigh the actions and consequences, because t hen, consequences for bad decisions would be much more severe than Gibbs' wrath.

"Fine. I'll call his phone, and he'd better answer this time. I'll keep in touch." Gibbs disconnected without waiting for a response, knowing Abby would immediately pass on Gibbs' warning. He had to get back on Tim's trail.

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A quarter of a mile over the Virginia/Kentucky border, a black four door car was pulled over on the side of the road, four occupants inside.

In the front seat, two occupants, a man and woman, watched as, in the back, a young woman cowered from her backseat companion. Her hands were tied together with thin rope, chafed and bleeding after several days, and her face and arms showed evidence of her days of abuse. Her bully's face displayed small marks of her attempts to defend herself on other occasions.

The young woman had made a mistake. She'd become too confident in her ability to be sneaky right in the presence of her captors. She'd gotten away with it up to now, but this time she'd been caught, and she cursed herself for risking it while in the car. They always left at least one to watch her at gas stops, but this time her watcher had stepped outside for a few moments of fresh air.

She'd taken her chance then, feeling the urgent need to let her brother know they'd crossed the border, but her watcher hadn't been far enough away.

They did nothing at that moment, of course, with the eyes of others around. They'd waited until they'd driven a little away from the traffic of the gas station and pulled off onto a side road.

Now the young woman's face showed fresh abuse, though she still refused to cry. They hadn't yet made her cry, and this frustrated her captors to no end, but she wouldn't give them that satisfaction as long as she could help it.

And now her phone, that one life line to her brother and rescue, lay smashed in the street, the victim of a hard boot heel.

She didn't really know if Tim was still on the other end of her communications, because she hadn't heard from him since he'd tried calling her phone with his own prepaid cell, and she tried telling herself that was a good thing. She'd texted his new number back with instruction not to call or text; as she'd expected, that fortunate moment she'd had alone, locked in the trunk of the car when he'd called, had been pretty much the last private moment she'd had, and she didn't want to risk losing the phone. That had given her the idea, though, to continue sending him clues when she thought she could get away with it, and it had worked up to now. She didn't know who was getting them, Tim or other law enforcement, but she knew that Tim would do whatever possible to save her.

But her cockiness had cost her this time, and as the car regained the paved road, her smashed phone left behind and useless, Sara McGee prayed as fresh blood dripped from her nose.

_Please find me, Tim, get me away from these people. God, please please help my brother save me._

**Please Review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing NCIS related.**

**Thank you all for the great reviews. Each one is like a fine chocolate; wanted greedily and savored with passion!**

**A/N: peppe1951- you might like this chapter. You were on the right track!**

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**Chapter Six**

Tim awoke with a jolt, forgetting for a moment his present predicament. Despite his urgency to get back on the hunt for Sara, his body had finally given in to it's need for sleep.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Mutt said sarcastically from the front seat. "You snore like a buzz saw."

Tim just glared at him blearily. He didn't feel much better for the sleep he'd gotten, and a glance at the dash clock told him it had been an hour and a half nap. Jeff was missing from the driver's seat and Tim belatedly realized the car was motionless. Looking around, he saw that they were pulled up to a gas pump, Jeff right outside the car pumping the gas.

"Where are we?" Tim asked.

"None of your business," Mutt returned immediately.

"I need a bathroom," Tim tried.

"Too bad."

"Why? There's a bathroom right there." He gestured with tied hands to the convenience store. He could see Jeff through the glass door, paying for his gas at the counter.

"You think I'm stupid or something? I ain't about to let you outta my sight."

"Would you rather have a mess to clean up back here?" Tim asked impatiently. He was sick of being in the car, sick of their company and wanted desperately to get back on Sara's trail. And he really did need a bathroom.

"Go ahead," Mutt laughed. "This is our boss's car. You mess it up, he'll take your head. Now shut up. If you're a good boy, I'll give you something to eat." Mutt nodded his head at Jeff, who was heading back to the car with a tall paper bag.

"What's so funny," Jeff asked the still-smiling Mutt when he got back into the driver's seat and shut the door.

"Nothing. Little Timmy has to make a pee pee. What'd you get?"

Tim glared at the back of the man's head, but said nothing to the disparaging remark.

Jeff handed the sack over and Mutt rummaged through it, pulling out various packaged snacks and bottled drinks. Tim waited expectantly, but nothing was handed back to him.

Tim fought the urge, but two days without food proved too much and he swallowed his pride. "You said you'd give me something to eat," he reminded Mutt, his face heating up in the humiliation.

"What can I say. I lied," Mutt laughed loudly, spitting small pieces of the beef jerky he was chomping.

"Fine, whatever," Tim blew it off angrily, "I still need.....gotta take a leak." He'd almost used the more polite 'need the bathroom', as he'd phrased it earlier, but his instincts told him to appeal to these men on their own cruder standards.

"God, you're a whiny thing, aren't you?" Mutt complained. Tim was really beginning to hate that guy.

Jeff seemed a tad more understanding. "Fine," he told Tim, "but not here. Too visible."

"Here ya go," Mutt said with a smirk as he tossed a cold bottle of water into Tim's lap. "Bon apetite."

Tim couldn't help himself. He twisted the cap off and chugged half the bottle before he took another breath, the bottle held awkwardly in his restrained hands. Mutt laughed at his desperation, but Tim ignored him.

"So who's your boss?" Tim asked, directing his question to Mutt.

"Like I'm gonna tell _you_. Anyway, you'll find out soon enough."

"Well, what does he want with me?"

"You'll find that out, too," Jeff said as he pulled onto the highway. "Now shut up."

"Well, you can at least tell me where we're going," Tim insisted.

"I said shut your mouth. Unless you want me to shut it for you."

Tim took the threat at face value and quieted. He hadn't really believed they'd talk, but it had been worth a try.

About two miles down the road, Jeff pulled the vehicle over. Tim thought the worst for a moment, until Jeff stated that if Tim had to 'take a leak', now was the time.

Mutt got out and opened Tim's door from the outside, unbuckled him, and pulled Tim roughly from the back seat. Tim stumbled a little on the rocks and sticks littering the ground, but Mutt jerked him back upright.

"Well?" Mutt asked impatiently as Tim waited. "Do it!"

"Here?" Tim looked around pointedly, then nodded his head at an approaching car. "Right out here in the open?"

Mutt muttered incoherently as he grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him several feet into the trees. Tim noted that Jeff stayed in the car, apparently confident in Mutt's ability to strong-arm Tim. Finally coming to a halt, Mutt released Tim.

"Now do it," he demanded. "We ain't got all day."

"What about my hands?" Tim held them up for Mutt's view.

"Forget it. I ain't about to untie you. Figure that part on your own. Now do it, or we're going back to the car."

"I don't think I can, with you right here."

"You're such a baby," Mutt criticized. He pulled Tim about four feet away and behind a sparse, waist-high bush. It offered very little in the way of privacy, but Tim decided it would have to do. Mutt returned to his former spot, but stared pointedly and expectantly at Tim.

Tim sighed in resignation and somehow managed to loosen his belt buckle, button and zipper. He really did have to relieve himself, but he planned on the necessary bodily function covering his real goal.

It was the oldest trick in the book, and Tim had very little expectations of it working, but he had to try. No kidnapper in their right mind would fall for the 'I have to go to the bathroom' escape ploy. He just hoped his two captors were as dumb as he thought they were.

Tim finished his necessary actions, but paused before fixing his pants or belt. This was the moment. He zipped his britches, left his belt buckle dangling, then leaned forward and brushed at his shoes, subtly watching his impatient observer.

"What're you doing? Let's go!"

"You want me tracking urine soaked mud into your boss's car?" Tim answered smartly. "Hold on."

Tim's other hand slid quickly into his pant leg and gripped his knife. He had a scary moment when he almost dropped it, the plastic tie restricting his hand movements, but he quickly regained a firm hold.

He was trying to hurry and be sneaky at the same time, knowing he didn't have time but not wanting Mutt to see what he was doing. He knew the first thing had to be freeing his hands.

But he should have been a little more observant of his surroundings.

"You're supposed to be watching him, you idiot," called a booming voice from directly above Tim's crouched position. Tim jumped, startled, then stood quickly and, without thinking, plunged the knife into Jeff's upper arm, high up near his right shoulder.

Jeff screamed and reached for the knife protruding from his muscled flesh, and Tim stood still, stunned for a moment at his own quick action. But when Jeff pulled the knife free, cursing a blue streak, Tim knew he was wasting precious time. It hadn't been either a killing or maiming thrust, and Tim felt as if he'd simply angered a raging dangerous beast. He didn't bother to gauge Mutt's position or reaction.

Tim took off, not toward the road, but into the woods, leaves churning under his feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot and piece of bark from a tree he was passing nicked the side of his face as the bullet impacted it.

That put wings to his feet, his still-restrained hands not holding him back much at all.

They had guns. He hadn't known they'd had guns. They'd never shown a gun once in the five days of their encounters with him.

_Of course they have guns, _Tim berated himself as he forced himself to move faster through the trees. _Why wouldn't they have guns? _Everybody_ has guns these days._

Especially if they really were employed by a mob-like organization, as they'd hinted.

Tim heard shouts behind him, but he didn't bother to take the time to listen. It could be both of them or just one, but he didn't care, and he didn't care what they were saying, either. He just concentrated on forward motion, because he had no intention of letting them catch him again.

He knew they wouldn't be very forgiving if they did.

* * *

Tony's phone rang again, and he had to resist the urge to snatch it up. Instead, he trained his eyes on the road, trying to ignore the insistent tone. It would probably have been easier if he'd just shut the thing off, but he wasn't quite that brave. After the requisite four rings ended, Tony took a deep breath of relief, knowing the caller probably wouldn't leave a message in the voice mail that missed calls were diverted to. If there _were_ messages, Tony didn't want to hear them. It would just make it harder for him to keep his resolve.

Seconds later, his companion's phone began to trill, just as they'd both expected.

"Be strong, Ziva," Tony advised, looking over at her.

"Perhaps we should just answer, Tony."

"We can't. You know that."

"He is not going to be happy."

"You knew the risks when you agreed to come. Suck it up and prepare yourself."

"I have no problem....._sucking it up,_" Ziva stressed the unfamiliar term, "but I worked hard to gain Gibbs' respect. I also worked hard to learn Gibbs' rules, and even harder to know why they should be obeyed. 'Never be unreachable' is one of the biggest. He's going to blow a basket."

"That's _gasket,_ and yes, he is."

"Then why do we not just answer and explain?"

"Have you ever tried to _explain_ to Gibbs, Zee-vah? It doesn't work. Abby said he knows something is up, so we can't talk to him yet."

"But I still don't understand why we-"

"Because, Ziva..... if we talk to him and he knows we're coming, he can order us to turn around and go back. We'll either have to do it, or not, and if we _don't_, then we'll be officially disobeying, and I can assure you, you don't want to go there. But if we get there before having to talk to him, he won't send us back, and he can't say we disobeyed an order. You see?"

"But are we not officially disregarding his original order to stay in DC and run the investigation from there?"

"Semantics," Tony waved it off. "And anyway, we're about about three quarters there. When I talked to Abby a few minutes ago, she said he was still at that same Shell station. And it'll be a good thing when we get there, too. She's about to have a nervous breakdown. She doesn't do well at deceiving Gibbs. I think I've reached my quota of favors from Abby for quite a while."

"She did seem rather agitated," Ziva remembered. She'd heard Abby's over-excited yelling at Tony over his phone all the way from her own seat. "How long before we reach his location?"

"Right now the ETA is about four more hours, but when he gets back on the road, Abby will have to point the way again."

"I could get us there quicker," Ziva offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Tony said quickly, and not at all politely.

"Why? Did I not squeeze off a few hours from the first half of the trip?"

"It's _shave_ off, and yes, you did. You also shaved off about ten years of my life."

"Fine," Ziva huffed. "I need a nap anyway." She put actions to words and settled comfortably in her seat and closed her eyes.

Tony's phone began to ring again. He sighed as he looked at the caller ID. It was getting harder each time, and it was going to be a long four hours.

Tim stumbled, then fell, but regained his feet immediately and pushed himself further. He had no idea how long he'd been running, but it seemed like forever and he was really getting nowhere. Except away.

And 'away' was fine at first. He'd instinctively chosen between the 'fight or flight' response, and he had been in no condition to fight those goons, once again, for his freedom. It had been and instinctive choice, fueled by adrenaline, but they were still on his trail. They had their guns, his knife, and their anger. In contrast, Tim had tied wrists, no weapons, and flagging strength.

It was time to turn the tables. For the hunted to become the hunter, so to speak, though it would be more subtle than outright hunting them. In Tim's increasing exhaustion, his body, and subsequently, the few fighting skills Gibbs, Kate, Ziva and Tony had beaten into him in years past would soon be useless. He'd have to take his chance where he could. Again.

Tim forced himself further and a little faster, hoping to put some distance between himself and the noisy pursuit behind him. When he thought he'd collapse, Tim slowed, looking for a suitable unseen position and trying to slow his breathing. He was so tired he was beginning to tremble.

Tim looked up into the trees wistfully. Ideally, he'd climb one of the trees and drop down onto the unsuspecting muscle men when he was ready, like in one of Tony's favorite action movies. Realistically, though, Tim knew his flagging energy wouldn't even allow him to climb the tree halfway, never mind jumping from it's branches and initiating an attack on Mutt and Jeff. A terrifying image flashed through Tim's headachy brain of him trying to drop from a tree only to do something stupid, like land wrong and break a leg or sprain an ankle, thereby putting himself at the men's mercy once again. That would be his luck. Tim shook the image from his head, but it had made the final decision for him. He wast leaving the ground.

Which really left only one other choice in his current surroundings, which was trees, trees trees.

Tim kicked around in the piles of fallen leaves until he found a sturdy branch suitable for what he intended. Several yard away, Tim spotted a tree that had a trunk splitting off into three directions, almost making it look like three separate trees growing from the same roots. It's configuration made it wide enough to conceal him, though he'd have to be mindful of the gaps between the twisted, separated trunk.

Again hearing the faint noises of his searchers getting closer, Tim jumped behind the tree and peered through one of the gaps. But then he wondered which direction they'd actually head, so he decided to make sure they were drawn to where he wanted them.

He put his fingers in one of the many holes now adorning his shirt and gave a firm yank, removing a decent-sized scrap from the tail of his filthy, once- white shirt that he'd obviously never wear to work again.

Bolting from his hidden spot, Tim hung the scrap from a bush that flanked a nearby tree, letting it flutter in the breeze in an obvious manner.

Now to make sure they were drawn in the right direction.

Tim held the end of his makeshift club firmly, took a wide stance, and gave a few sharp whacks to one of the trees. The sound echoed through the woods, and Tim's trackers became suddenly and conspicuously silent, no doubt pausing to determine the source and direction of the noise. Tim returned to his hiding spot quickly, the thick branch still held tightly.

It took several minutes for Mutt and Jeff to appear through the trees, and they were obviously being cautious. Both held a gun and Jeff's stab wound was bleeding heavily. It was an edgy ten minutes as Tim watched them tread slowly, looking around carefully, coming closer and closer.

He held his breath a he watched them. They were together, which was fortunate, because he wanted to deal with both of them instead of having to worry about another one of them wandering unseen in the woods, but he'd have to be quick and careful since he was outnumbered.

Tim thought for a moment that they would pass his position and continue on, but he had a stroke of luck; Jeff called to Mutt triumphantly as Tim's waving scrap was spotted on the bush.

Jeff pulled the scrap from the bush and examined it, less than five feet from Tim's position. Tim silently urged Mutt join his partner, but the large blonde man simply stood where he was, watching Jeff's examination intently and awaiting comment. Tim continued waiting impatiently, but he knew he couldn't wait; he might lose his chance. He'd simply have to try taking Jeff out as quickly as possible in hopes of dealing with Mutt one on one.

Tim took a deep, quiet breath of preparation and focused on Jeff. His ears became deaf to the outside sounds of the woods and the other men's words and his vision tunneled; he was familiar with this phenomenon. He experienced it every time he prepared himself for a raid, or during a standoff, or when busting into an unfamiliar building to bust a dangerous baddie. He was focused solely on his intended target and what he must do.

He gripped his branch tighter, sliding his hands around the rough bark, stepped around the tree with a crackling of leaves, heaved the heavy branch over his shoulder like a baseball bat, and swung it down with all his force.

Jeff dropped like a bag of bricks, clutching his stomach. He was obviously unable to speak, but his eyes were angry as they trained on Tim. Brought to his knees, the man no longer towered over Tim, and Tim reveled in the power he felt at bringing the large man closer to his own level.

Seconds after his knees hit the ground, Jeff raised his gun, but Tim was ready and quickly sent it into a bush with a kick, then followed up almost simultaneously with another much harder kick to the other man's jaw. Jeff flew back and lay strewn in the leaves. He seemed to be barely conscious.

_Thank you, Kate, _Tim sent to the heavens. She'd taught him that particular move not long before....._that day_..... and he never failed to thank her when he had cause to use it.

The time had slowed for Tim, but the encounter had only lasted several seconds, and as Jeff hit the dust, time speeded up to normal. Tim spun quickly to face a stunned Mutt, standing motionless ten feet away and who seemed to have just grasped the situation.

Tim tensed as Mutt raised his gun, raising his own restrained hands in a weak attempt at defense.

Mutt cocked the gun, and to Tim's ears the sound seemed to reverberate through the woods.

Tim had to fight the urge to close his eyes. Instead, he stared at Mutt, meeting the other man's eyes angrily.

If Tim was going to die in a small patch of woods in GodKnowsWhere, Virginia, then his murderer was at least going to have to see his dying eyes.

One corner of Mutt's mouth lifted in a satisfied smirk.

**Please Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing NCIS related.**

**A/N: Although I can't remember which episode it was, I remember McGee making a big deal about the fact that he loved the outdoors and knew his way around the wilderness. In this chapter, McGee makes a statement of that fact, so if I'm wrong and I'm imagining said episode, then forgive me and pretend it happened! Thanks!**

**Also, a small warning: McGee is a bit Out Of Character in this chap, but it fits with the plot and his current mindset.**

**And I can't thank all you wonderful people enough for the reviews!**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Tim felt his face smooth into blankness, waiting for the shot. He stared into Mutt's eyes. It was a strange feeling. Tim didn't want to hear the gunshot, he didn't want to feel the hot bullet ripping through his flesh, but suddenly..... he just wasn't afraid. He would be, he knew, if he were to let himself actually think about it, but he didn't. Because right now, the only thing that mattered was getting to Sara and bringing her home. If he were killed here today, he couldn't do that, and that was unacceptable, unthinkable. He wasn't willing to entertain that possibility and what was left was....nothing. No fear, no expectation, no thoughts. Even the defiance faded, though Tim could feel the spark underneath the nothingness, ready to be called up when needed, but it was a detached feeling, as if he were looking at it, and himself, from far away. The emotionless, nothing feeling would terrify Tim later, remembered as if it were a bad dream, but now, this first time, it took over Tim's mind as if knowing that was the way to survive and Tim didn't fight it.

Mutt's gun had only been raised for a few seconds when the change in Tim took place. Whatever it was he saw in Tim's eyes stalled his actions, stiffening his fingers from pulling the trigger. No one, not even Mutt, knew whether he really would have squeezed the trigger eventually, because he never got the chance to try.

The club-like branch was still gripped tightly, raised with Tim's hands, and at Mutt's minuscule hesitation, Tim's arms pulled back and slung the branch forward, his hands releasing it just right. The action had been robotic, an automatic instinct for survival, but when the heavy branch thudded against Mutt's chest and knocked him backward, Tim's awareness flooded through him, erasing the strange non-emotion. Tim moved.

Two quick and giant strides and a leap landed Tim atop Mutt, knocking the breath out of both of them. Mutt reacted with a jarring punch to Tim's jaw that hurt like hell, but Tim held to Mutt tightly and refused to be dislodged. Tim rode through the pain and shook his head to clear the stars. He knew he wouldn't withstand another punch from Mutt's heavy fist.

Tim pulled his arms around, still restrained, backhanded Mutt's face three times in quick succession, back and forth, from one side to the other, stopping only by force of will. Tim tried to tell himself that he'd only done it because he'd have no chance at overpowering the large man otherwise, but.....it felt good. Oh, man, did it feel good to lay into that asshole!

And it worked; for a few minutes at least, which was all Tim needed. Then he let experience take over. Mutt was stunned enough that he didn't resist, though he was still heavy. Tim lifted himself off the man's body long enough to roll him to his stomach. Then he pulled Mutt's thick arms behind him and leaned forward to rest his weight on them, just in case.

Tim heard the leaves rustling and looked over to see Jeff stumbling around on his knees. He seemed a bit confused or dazed, but he was trying to regain his feet.

"Stay where you are!" Tim ordered in his 'agent' voice, but he was ignored.

He felt around in Mutt's tight hip pocked awkwardly, finally finding what he was looking for; a handful of the same white, plastic ties that they'd restrained Tim with.

Tim used three of them on Mutt, just in case, and he wasn't gentle.

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Jeff bearing down on him in a stumbling, plodding way. Tim rolled off Mutt quickly, grabbed up the gun that had been dropped in a two-handed grip and, on his back, pointed the gun at Jeff.

"Freeze! Don't move! I mean it!"

It took a second, but Jeff froze.

"On your knees," Tim told him, "and put your hands on your head."

Jeff complied, but he seemed to be coming out of the daze his semi-consciousness had put him in. His eyes were angry and his glance flicked back and forth between Tim and his partner lying restrained in the dirt.

Tim managed to stand, breathing heavily, but the gun steady in his hand. At his feet, Mutt groaned, rolled to his back, and sat up. Without looking down at him, Tim put a foot against Mutt's chest and shoved the man back down.

"Not yet, you don't," Tim said. "You move before I tell you too, I'll put a bullet in you." Tim had no doubt in himself that he would do it without hesitation, and he could see that Mutt heard the new steel in Tim's voice.

Mutt stayed put and said nothing, staring daggers at Tim and wiping the blood from his nose onto his shoulder. One of his eyes was already swelling shut and his jaw was bruised, and Tim marveled that it was his own handiwork. He'd never taken pleasure in the pain of someone else before now, and he hoped he never did again .

Tim backed away from the man's reach in case he got any ideas. His own jaw was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he didn't want another go round. Besides, he had another matter to take care of- Mutt's better half, so to speak.

Tim took two steps toward Jeff, training the gun point blank. He wanted Jeff to know he wasn't kidding.

"Use your left hand, reach into you jacket, and pull that knife out with your finger tips." Tim had noticed the large knife clipped to Jeff's belt, and he didn't want to try restraining the man with his own wrists tied together. When Jeff held the knife dangling, Tim said, "Now toss it this way, and don't get any ideas. Nice and slow or I shoot." Tim had no idea of Jeff's abilities with the hunting knife, but he'd seen Ziva use knives as throwing weapons, and he wasn't going to take the chance that Jeff had similar skill. He knew that if Jeff really did have such abilities, Tim could be dead before he knew the knife had left Jeff's hand, but he figured that if the other man knew Tim was careful and watching for something like that, it would be preemptive.

The knife landed with a thud at Tim's feet, and he quickly freed his hands. It felt good to be able to move his arms and wrists again. He felt pain in his wrists, but he knew better than to take his eyes off of Jeff. He'd worry about first aid later.

He approached Jeff slowly and went around behind him, as he would any perp, and warned him again not to move. To make sure Jeff knew he meant business, he pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Jeff's dark head while he used his other hand to pull Jeff right hand off his head and behind his back. He followed suit with the other and secured Jeff's wrists tightly in the same manner he had Mutt's.

Both men securely restrained, Tim stepped back. "On your feet. Both of you," he ordered. He kept the gun trained in their general direction as both men grunted and stumbled to their feet._ Not so fun, is it? _Tim asked them silently, but he kept the words to himself. He had no time for pettiness.

"Over there," he waved the gun at the tree he'd hidden behind. It's narrower, split trunk would be just the right size for what he needed.

Both men obeyed and watched Tim warily as he approached. Jeff, the smarter of the two in Tim's estimation, tried to follow Tim with his eyes as Tim went around behind the men and the tree. "Eyes front!" Tim snapped. He was being as careful and cautious as he could- it wouldn't do to let either of them regain the upper hand or escape- but it was taking longer than he wanted, and his exhaustion and various aches were making him impatient.

Reaching through the wide gaps between the tree tree trunk, Tim pulled each man backward one at a time and used the remaining plastic ties to secure their hands to the tree. Once both men were effectively immobilized and secure, Tim let himself relax a little, but when the exhaustion filled the space of the diminishing adrenaline, he wondered if relaxing now was a mistake.

Tim walked around to the front to face the men and tucked the gun into his waistband. His pants were looser than they had been five days ago and the gun almost slid out, but he managed to find just the right spot to hold it. Despite everything, he'd have been humiliated if his coolness level, as Tony might have termed it, had been diminished by his gun sliding down the leg of his pants. He had to shake away the picture in his mind of him trying to fish it out while the two idiots snickered and laughed.

Tim warned both men to keep still- their feet were still free, after all- and he frisked each one. He removed several hidden weapons from each of them, from their ankles to their collars, a little chagrined that he hadn't done so before coming close enough to restrain them. Being alone, though, and without backup, he knew he'd done things just right to ensure his safety. It wasn't exactly his first apprehension.

Then he wondered why he was still thinking of this as a routine arrest, when it was anything _but_.

Tim tossed each weapon he found into the growing pile, amazed they'd had room on their bodies for the hardware of knives and small guns. Even a couple pairs of brass knuckles. He didn't let himself think about what they'd probably angrily imagined doing to him with each item once they'd caught him again, and he couldn't imagine why they'd played cat and mouse for so long when they could have easily gotten the upper hand during any one of their previous encounters by simply pulling a weapon. He even found a couple of things that he wasn't sure what they were, but were no doubt exotic torture devices that originated in other countries, as well as practical items like lock picks. He'd never thought either of the two men were new to the lifestyle of violence and pain, and it was easy to imagine both of them as the distributors, but Tim suddenly realized how lucky he was that they'd felt compelled to hold back with him. Then he wondered _why_ they were compelled to hold back with him. Orders from their boss, maybe? But why? He'd have to mull that over later, when he had the time and energy, and could think a little straighter.

After all the ominous weapons he pulled from each of them, he looked at the can of pepper spray incongruously. "Pepper spray?" he asked Mutt with raised eyebrows. "Really?" He tossed the small can on top of the small pile of other weapons in the dirt. Mutt looked a little embarrassed that such an item had been pulled from his pocket, but he didn't comment Tim's sarcasm. Once Tim was certain both men were stripped of the tools of their trade- unless they'd made use of bodily crevasses, of which Tim had _no_ intention of searching- he looked down at the pile and shook his head, wondering why they thought they'd ever need so many weapons at one time. Surely it wasn't all for him.

Tim bent down and retrieved from the pile his own knife that had last been seen sticking out of Jeff's shoulder.

"I appreciate you holding on to this for me," Tim quipped, wiping it clean of Jeff's blood on the leg of his pants. They were already filthy, anyway. Tim walked several feet away and, under the curious eyes of his captives, sank to the ground wearily and let his weight rest against the tree behind him. He just suddenly needed to rest for a few minutes. He was so tired.

Tim absently wiped the blade against the grass, cleaning it further. He had made the comment to Jeff sarcastically, but he truly would have mourned the loss of the knife. He let his eyes slide closed and let his head fall against the tree as he remembered when Gibbs had given it to him.

During what had been a routine interview, Tim had had a problem with a suspect and had lost his side arm. It had all turned out okay, but later, Gibbs had reiterated his rule about always carrying a spare gun and always carrying a hidden blade or knife. Tim had taken Gibbs 'advice' about the spare gun from day one; it made sense to have a backup. But Tim had never been a knife person and the whole idea had made him uncomfortable enough that he'd blown off the 'rule', though he'd heard it many times. He knew Tony carried one. He didn't know about Kate, whether she'd had one or not, but she hadn't seemed to be a knife person, either. On the other hand, she had been a _smart_ person, and smart people followed Gibbs' advice, especially if you were one of his agents, so what did he know? And now, of course, Ziva; her having one or more at all times pretty much went without saying, and Tim didn't think she was doing it on Gibbs' advice. He thought even Abby might have one.

Well, he'd mentioned to Gibbs that day his reluctance to carry a knife and had commented that he knew nothing about them anyway and wouldn't know how to go about finding a suitable one. The next evening, when the rest of the team had left for the day, Gibbs had held Tim back and had unceremoniously presented him with a nice looking but functional weapon of his own choosing, complete with a beautiful leather ankle sheath. He'd even shown Tim how to strap it on correctly and how to get a feel for it in his hand, and had taken the time to make sure it fit Tim's grip just right. Gibbs had guessed at what would fit Tim best when he'd picked the weapon out, and he'd chosen just right. Gibbs knew his weapons.

Tim had thanked Gibbs, touched that his boss would think of him enough for that. He hadn't been on the team long at that point and was still feeling his way and trying to fit in. When Tim had gotten home a little later, Tony had been waiting in his apartment- the first time he'd ever picked the lock. He'd somehow known about Gibbs' gift to Tim and he'd brought a weapon catalog for Tim to look through, stating correctly that he knew there wouldn't be such a magazine hanging around his apartment. When Tim asked why, Tony had stated that his own first knife had been a gift from Gibbs, as well, but he'd come close to losing it several times during hairy moments. And since he'd never want to lose the first thing Gibbs had ever given him, he'd put the gift away as a spare and ordered another one for everyday use.

Tim had thought that a great idea, but had never gotten around to doing it. Now he thought that might be something to take care of later. If there was a later. The way things were going, he wasn't so sure.

He no longer had long-term goals for anything, because he didn't know what was going to happen from one minute to the next. His only overall goal was getting Sarah away from her kidnappers, whatever that entailed. Tim knew it certainly meant his job, probably some jail time for some of the things he'd done- or might do. And depending on how things turned out and exactly who he was dealing with, maybe even his life.

Tim had started this desperate jaunt with the idea that he'd get his sister back and have them both safely home, both of them relieved and barely the worse for wear with an interesting story to tell others. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been worried, starting out. He'd completely understood the seriousness of the situation, the danger to both of them, and the dire possibilities. His goal had been to get them both home well and safe, and if possible, without anyone being the wiser until after the fact. But five days ago, his mind and body had been fresh and, though desperate to find Sara and afraid for her, he'd been able to force optimism and keep things in perspective. But now, he was worn out both physically and mentally, it had been over two days since he'd eaten or gotten any real rest, Gibbs -and maybe others- was on his trail, he'd had Mutt and Jeff to deal with, and his desperation had become an obsession. So much so that he couldn't plan for 'after rescuing Sara', because in his new state of mind, that was all there was. And if it meant doing terrible things, or giving up his life or his future, then that was simply the price to pay for Sara's freedom and her life.

And the small part of Tim's mind that realized he was changing became afraid, that last piece of common sense that was holding on tried to tell Tim to hold on to 'himself' as long as he could or he would be lost in a way that was much worse than prison, maybe even worse than death. If he lost that piece of himself, he'd never find his way back.

Tim pulled himself from his thoughts with effort and opened his tired, gritty eyes, staring up into the branches of the tree. It was hard to tell through the summer leaves, but he thought it would be getting dark in a few short hours. In that time, he had to get out of the woods, find transportation and get back on the right track to find Sara's trail. It would be harder after dark.

He reached down and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He was worried that his only lifeline to Sara had been smashed in his scuffle with Mutt. He read the last text again.

"Harlan, Kentucky," he mused aloud. He wondered what was in Harlan, why they were taking Sara out of Virginia. _Why are they even running to begin with? _He wondered. _They'd left instructions for me to meet them in the first place. Why would they take off and make me track them for days? Is it all some sick mind game? If so, I'm tired of playing. I'm ready to end it._

"You said that was your watch," Tim heard, and he looked up to meet Mutt's accusing gaze. Tim shook his head incredulously and saw the realization dawning on Jeff's face that the phone was the 'watch' he'd heard chiming in the car. As if they had any right to feel scandalized.

"What can I say? I lied," Tim retorted, repeating Mutt's words from the car. Mutt's face turned thunderous, growing angrier at his inability to take his anger out on it's source; namely, Tim.

Tim pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore how hard it was, sheathed his knife at his ankle, and approached the captive men. He looked at them with his head cocked to the side, pretending deep thought.

"Now what am I gonna do with the two of you? I don't think I'm up to extra baggage. I'm in a bit of a hurry, you know."

Jeff's eyes narrowed. "You can't just leave us out here, tied like this."

"Why not? You'd just slow me down."

"You're a federal agent. You can't knowingly leave us to die."

"Federal agent?" Tim asked. "I _was_. I don't think I am anymore. I'm sure the two of you had plans for me. Why don't you give me some ideas of what to do with you? Fork over some of those gruesome daydreams buried in your warped minds. You don't carry around weapons like this unless you know how to use them." Tim gave a punctuating kick to the pile of weaponry on the ground, then reached down and picked up a large serrated hunting knife. He slapped the flat of the blade against his palm absently as he talked.

"Torture?" he guessed. "That sounds like something you two might do. You'd enjoy it too, wouldn't you? Especially you," he said, pointing the knife at Mutt. "If it's any consolation, I appreciate that you held back until I could get away. I'm not a big fan of pain. I'll take that into account when I decide what to do with you. I won't even hold the concussion against you, _Leslie_, or my jaw, which might be fractured, the way it feels." Tim paused and looked up at the two men, gratified to see dawning fear in both their eyes.

"'I'm just a regular guy, Jeff," Tim said. He felt like he was watching a one man show, a play put on by himself and from a distance. Like he was watching a completely different and unknown person. "Maybe I _was_ a federal agent, but now...... now I can do whatever I want."

"My name's not Jeff," the dark haired man croaked out.

Tim smiled. He didn't know what kind of a smile it was, but it made both men's eyes widen. "You'll always be Jeff to me....._Jeff_." Tim held up the large knife for both of them to see. "This one here is interesting. What were you gonna do with this one? You know, I saw one like this in a magazine a friend of mine gave me once. I'm not really one for large knives......don't they say the bigger the knife, the more you're compensating for something else? No? Well, maybe not, I've probably mixed my metaphors. I like the outdoors, but I've never cared for hunting. But I know a hunting knife when I see it. This one is used for gutting and skinning. Is that what you were gonna use it for? I just don't see you two as hunters. Not for animals, anyway. What else have you hunted for, guys? Huh?"

"Nothing," Mutt sputtered, clearly terrified now. "Nothing. We don't hunt nothing! We weren't really gonna hurt you, we just had orders to bring you to our boss."

Tim settled a Gibbs- worthy stare on Mutt's face and stepped forward until he was inches away from the other man's face. Mutt's breathing was fast and panicky and he blew his foul breath into Tim's face on each exhale, but Tim ignored it. He raised the large knife and trailed the tip of it lightly down the side of Mutt's cheek, from temple to chin, and underneath his throat. Mutt's eyes clenched shut in fear.

"Who? Who's your boss and why does he want me?" Tim asked softly.

"I don't know, I swear to God, I don't know....." Mutt was sweating now, and shaking a little, and he'd lost his sarcastic, superior attitude. "......we're not given the details, we're given orders. We just follow them and get paid. That's it, I swear."

Tim looked over to Jeff, who was watching avidly, and the other man nodded vigorously when he noticed Tim's attention focused on him.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Tim asked, his tone growing fierce and angry. "Or maybe _you're_ stupider than I thought. I know a lie when I hear it." And it was true; Tim somehow knew, without a doubt, that even as scared as he was, Mutt was lying. At least about some of it. It was highly probable that the hired muscle didn't know why their boss wanted Tim, but _nobody_ was ignorant about who signed their paychecks.

And that fact bothered Tim more than he'd like to admit. As terrified of Tim as Mutt was, both men were still either too loyal to their boss to give him up or more afraid of him than they were of Tim's immediate threat, and neither of them struck Tim as being the loyal type. Just who _was_ their boss? What kind of person was he dealing with?

Tim hoped he wasn't making a mistake, but he felt the now familiar desperation settle in once more; every moment he wasn't on the move, Sara was getting farther away. He'd have to worry about who these jackasses worked for later. For now, he had more pressing matters.

He stepped back from Mutt and took a deep breath of pure air, free from Mutt's putrid breath. He tapped the knife against against his palm again.

"As much as I'd like to drag it out of you, I have somewhere else to be. I can't waste my time with you two."

Tim raised the knife high over his head and, ignoring both men's frightened shouts, brought the knife down toward his target.....

…..and stuck it firmly into the tree trunk right between their heads.

Tim didn't smile at the men's fear, or the sweat streaming down both faces, or the relieved breaths both men drew in raggedly. Tim's heart pattered quickly against his own chest in a fear he hid, because he didn't know what had made him impale the tree instead......for a few quick moments there, he'd fully intended to strike straight into Mutt's muscular chest.

He felt sick suddenly. _Keep it together, Tim, _that small remaining part of his old self advised. _Keep your senses about you and keep it together. You can't afford to lose it now._ Tim swallowed hard and ran his forearm across his eyes, clearing the sweat away. The cuts on his swollen wrist stung from the salt in his bodily moisture. He felt as if there were two entities living in his one body, fighting for dominance of his one brain. His old self, with the common sense, self preservation and logical mind, and the new Tim that was desperation, obsession, and ruthlessness, usually acting solely on instinct with no thought of consequences. He didn't even want to think about that strange blank emotionlessness of earlier and where _it_ might fit in.

Regaining control of himself, Tim glanced back and forth between the men held captive against the tree. "Enjoy the fresh air, gentlemen. Maybe I'll remember to make a phone call to the police, or maybe I'll forget. You'll know soon enough. I'll be kind enough to dispose of these weapons for you. If you do manage to get free, don't even think about coming after me. If I see you again, I'll kill you." Tim didn't know if that was an idle threat or not, but it didn't matter. He just needed _them_ to believe it wasn't.

Tim gathered the armful of weapons from the ground, juggling it all awkwardly and ignoring the men's yells that he couldn't leave them there to die. Sooner or later they'd realize he'd left the knife embedded in the tree between them. He didn't know if they'd be able to reach it, high as it was between their heads, but it would give them something to work at. Maybe he'd call the town authorities in a day or two to give him time to get ahead of them. Tempting as the thought was, he really had no intention of leaving them there to die, but they'd be fine for awhile.

Tim contemplated burying the armload of weapons, but settled for tossing it all in a nearby fast-flowing stream that sunk the heavier items and carried the rest away. He kept the one gun, though, as well as the light stash of ammo for it that Jeff had been carrying on him. He took a few minutes to clean his face and swollen, cut wrists, then belatedly wished he'd stolen one of the men's clothing before restraining them. Anything from them would be too big on him, but their clothes were in much better shape than his. He wasn't about to release one of them just to strip him, though.

_Now which direction should I head? _Tim wondered, rotating in a circle to take in his current surroundings. He could hear the traffic of a heavier highway to his right, so the patch of woods obviously ended not too far away. But what would be his odds when he got there? Especially when he could walk just a little longer to the car they'd left behind on the smaller back-road highway. It even had a paper bag full of snacks in it, and the thought of food- any kind- made Tim's mouth fill with saliva. And they might have clothes in the trunk, too. They'd been wearing something different each time he'd encountered them, so they had to have a stash.

Tim hadn't found the keys among the weapons when he'd searched Jeff earlier, so he knew they must have been left in the car.

The choice was made.

Ziva jumped when the door slammed, then lifted her head from the seat. "How much further?" she asked, opening her eyes groggily and looking at the scenery. When she'd returned from the ladies room, she'd dozed again while Tony had busied himself with filling the gas tank, making use of the men's facilities, and paying for the gas and candy bars in the store. There was just something about long car rides that insisted on making her sleepy. She yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and looked over at Tony, who glanced at her. He looked tired and she decided that soon he was going to relinquish the driver's seat to her whether he liked it or not.

He pulled his seat belt over his chest and snapped it, then tossed her a candy bar. She caught it easily and pulled it open. She was ready for real food, but convenience-store fare would have to do for the moment. She could do with the sugar rush from the chocolate and the Mountain Dew Tony handed her to combat her sluggishness. She was Mossad; she was supposed to be ready for anything at any time. Sleepiness was no excuse.

"According to Abby, just a couple more hours. Gibbs seems to be hanging out in the same general area."

"Perhaps he has lost McGee's trail?"

"Possibly. But it's not like him to hang around and do nothing to try to find it. More likely, he's waiting for us."

Ziva looked up at her partner in surprise, the chocolate and caramel making a paste in her throat. "Waiting for us? He already knows we're coming?" Her words were thick through the candy.

Tony grimaced at her candy-bar etiquette. "Probably. And the longer we make him wait, the more grief he's gonna give us. But he probably _is_ stalled on McGee's trail, too. If he had a good lead, he wouldn't hang around and wait for us. He knows we'd find him wherever he is. I'm sure Abby's informed him by now of how close we are; she can't keep a secret from him for long. Which means he needs help, or wants help."

"Or perhaps he simply wants to get his hands on us that much sooner," Ziva rationed. She wasn't quite as comfortable as Tony seemed to be with disregarding Gibbs' orders so blatantly- she was Mossad, and Mossad always followed orders, though she'd learned it was sometimes different in the US. And of course, it was usually best to follow _Gibbs_' orders, as well.

But whatever the outcome, she felt it was worth it for McGee. The investigation had come to nothing but dead ends from their end, with nothing more they could do, and both were eager to be more involved in the chase for their friend and partner. And she had to admit, Tony knew the way Gibbs mind worked better than any of them when it came to things like this, so perhaps Gibbs would not be quite as angry as she was anxiously anticipating. She couldn't help but notice, however, that the closer they got, the more Tony began to display some of his small nervous habits and tics that he denied he had. But their course was set, and there was nothing to do but follow it.

And then, before they'd even joined the investigation from this end, two miles from the gas station, they got their first big break.

"Tony, stop!" Ziva shouted, and Tony immediately slammed on the brake and navigated to the shoulder.

"What the hell, Ziva!" He didn't look at her until the car had finally slid to a gravelly stop.

She raised her eyes to his face, ignoring his scowl but raising her eyebrows at him in silent admonition.

Before Tony could respond, Ziva retrieved their case folder that had slid from the seat to the floor. She opened it up, found what she was looking for, and pushed it in front of Tony's face. She stabbed the photo with a finger.

"That," she said simply.

They both looked at the photo for a few seconds, then looked at each other and then, as one, turned in their seats to look through the back window of the car.

Behind them sat a seemingly abandoned vehicle that matched the picture and written description of the car in their case file.

A description from a certain motel clerk in a nothing town, and a picture caught on that motel's outdoor camera.

The car assumed to belong to the two men that had been asking after McGee.

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**Please Review! ; )**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated with it, and I make no money by playing with the characters.**

**A/N: Just a general statement- despite the many (too many?) shows I watch, I have no idea of the legal or correct process of 'chain of evidence' or how one would go about transporting a large piece of evidence – such as a vehicle, lol- from one state, city or town to another. My reference to it is all guesswork and imagination, so if there is anyone out there that knows better, or is a stickler for details, take it with a grain of salt! **

**Also, I have been playing loosely with the distance that has been traveled over the five days, so use you imagination, and if anyone has noticed any inconsistencies or flubs, feel free to tell me (as one already had, prompting this 'disclaimer'), lol. I've just been using the premise that time is often wasted while losing and regaining Sara's trail, as well as other interruptions (like Mutt and Jeff and finding transportation), to excuse the fact that I have no idea if the distance from where Tim began is far enough away from where he is now to warrant five days of travel. I have no problem with people pointing out such things, because I'm usually a stickler for details myself and I like to know where I fall short, but if it bothers you more than just a little, I have more salt! **

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**Chapter Eight**

_Dammit, dammit, dammit,_ Tim chanted the curse to himself. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing had worked out quite right since the moment he'd left his apartment five days ago. It seemed that the fates were conspiring against him, refusing to allow him to find Sara, or at the very least, get back on her trail. If the fates went by the names Gibbs, Tony and Ziva.

When had those two come into the picture, anyway? Gibbs had obviously called them in; there would be no other reason for them to be so far from DC. But did this new development mean that other authorities were on the lookout for him now? It seemed to be the case; Tim couldn't make out the indistinct conversation, but that was obviously a local law enforcement official that DiNozzo was talking with by the car.

_His_ car, the car that was supposed to get him back on Sara's trail, which was now surely growing colder by the minute. It had been a few hours since her last daring text and there was no telling where she was by now. He just knew he had to get to Harlan, Kentucky; from there he'd start asking around again. It would be harder if other agencies and local cops would be watching for him, though. He'd have to be more careful. Sneakier.

Tim had experienced a strange phenomenon when he'd first become aware of the presence of his partners- former partners?- whatever they were now. His friends. At the first sound of voices, Tim had ducked down behind the moss-encrusted boulder at the edge of the woods. It had taken him only moments to realize who the voices had belonged to. He was stunned and confused in that first instant, believing it to be a hopeful dream; he'd had many instances of missing his friends deeply the past five days, many days of wishing for familiar company or advice or teasing or _anything_. He'd even almost called Jimmy once, thinking him to be the safest choice during one of his bleakest moments, needing to hear a friendly, familiar voice. He'd stopped himself just in time, though. Jimmy wouldn't have kept it a secret for long, if at all, and they would have had his new cell number, too.

Once Tim convinced himself that his dream was reality, he'd almost revealed himself. _Almost_. He'd wanted to step out of the cover of trees and shout out to them. He needed them, needed friends and sanity and help with his quest, and ultimately, _Sara_ needed them. If it had been Gibbs, even after the days of evasion, Tim probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself. He needed his Boss' commanding presence to make sense of his world once again, needed Gibbs' gruff reassurance...... but Tony and Ziva weren't Gibbs' and he was able to resist that first instant of longing.

Because Tim knew they wouldn't let him continue. Maybe they would, if he took the time to convince them, convince _Gibbs_', who would ultimately make the decision...... even if he managed to convince them, it would have wasted precious time, and who was to say they'd allow it? Gibbs was known for occasionally going against the grain, bending rules for what he needed, but...... Tim just couldn't take the chance. If other agencies or the LEOs got involved, Sara was as good as gone, lost for good. Gibbs' team had a high rate of successful cases, but Tim knew all the statistics about kidnap victims, and the odds weren't good. And then, of course, there were the threats against his team. He couldn't take the chance that they were still being watched or threatened. And he didn't want them to risk their careers any more than their lives for his cause. As desperate as he was to find Sara, he couldn't ask that of them.

Those were all the excuses he told himself as he stopped himself from stepping out, as he hunched there in the bushes and behind a boulder watching Tony and Ziva inspect the car. Because deep down, that little shred of Old Tim that was still hanging on was telling him that he hadn't revealed himself because he knew his current behavior was irrational and dangerous, if only to himself. They would continue the search for Sara, no doubt, even if it meant launching a large- scale search with other agencies, but Tim knew they wouldn't let him continue it himself. And that, ultimately, was what kept Tim hidden. Tim knew how much his friends cared for him, and they would insist on him getting rest and care while the search went on without him, and that was no longer an option. Tim was too invested in his sister's search; he knew with every certainty in him, regardless of how irrational it was realistically, that he was the only one who could save Sara. It had to be him; he just knew that even if others found her, something terrible would happen before her custody was exchanged from the bad people to the good people. Tim wasn't willing to risk that.

Tim watched for a few moments longer as Tony conversed with the town cop, but he knew what he had to do. If they saw him, he'd never evade them. He was too tired and had no reserves of energy. He'd have to go back through the woods to the larger highway he'd heard earlier and do what he could from there. He'd have to be careful, now that the police would be on the lookout for him, but he'd also have to hurry. He knew what Tony's next step would be. They either knew Tim had been in that car, or that the men after Tim had been in that car, but either way it was a matter of interest to Tony and Ziva. Their next step would be to search the surrounding area, and that included the woods. When Tim spied Ziva standing at the road's edge, hands on hips and staring into the darkening woods suspiciously, he knew it was time to go and quietly backed away. He retreated back the way he'd come from, struggling to force his pace into a trot.

_At least I won't have to make a phone call for someone to come for Mutt and Jeff, _Tim thought. He knew they would likely be found soon by the search party.

He regretted the loss of the snacks almost as much as the car.

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do to help with your case, Agent?" The young sheriff's deputy asked again.

Tony stifled a frustrated sigh. He didn't want to offend these small town officials into refusing what he'd asked or making a spiteful call of complaint to the Navy Yard. Vance had been kept in the dark about the whole thing so far, and Tony wanted it kept that way.

"Thank you, deputy, but it's.....uh.....top secret," Tony ad libbed. The deputy's eyes lit up at the words 'top secret'.

"Really?" the young man asked.

"That's right," Tony went on, playing the gullible man. "It's a top secret case. We could use your help, but we can't discuss it with you."

"How can I help, agent DiNozzo?" the deputy asked eagerly.

"Weeelll, Deputy....." Tony squinted at the man's name tag, "......Carlin? Well, Deputy Carlin, as soon as me and my partner here look the vehicle over, we need it transported to the NCIS agency in the navy yard in DC. Think that can be managed?"

"Absolutely, Agent. We actually have a man that does that sorta thing. He runs the tow service in town, but if he's reimbursed, he'll haul any vehicle almost anywhere for officials."

"Well, I don't know, deputy," Tony hedged. "We need it there quick, like by ten a.m tomorrow at the latest.....and of course there's chain of evidence......" Tony didn't really think that mattered too much at that point, because they just wanted to find McGee and his sister, but it didn't hurt to let the deputy know that it was of a serious matter and to feel out their procedures.  
"Oh, that ain't a problem," Deputy Carlin took the hint. "Ray's been licensed and cleared to transport without breaking the chain of evidence. We don't really have to worry too much about that kinda thing around here, but you'd be surprised how often we find abandoned cars that are wanted by some agency or the police in another town. Happens all the time. Ray's your man, and I'll bet he can get it there by morning if he leaves soon."

Tony nodded, satisfied. He wouldn't have to waste time having someone from NCIS drive up to get it, then drive it back to the Yard. Time was crucial. Tony accepted 'Ray's' contact info from Deputy Carlin, then called the man and made arrangements. It wasn't an ideal situation and might not hold up as evidence in court later, but it served his purposes for the moment, and that was the best he could do. Over the phone, Ray had seemed to be a straightforward man and had asked only the questions he needed to know, proving that he very well might have had as much experience with such situations as the deputy had insinuated.

Tony called Abby next, to let her know the car would be arriving sometime the next morning. He bantered with her in their usual way, but absently; he was watching Ziva. She was standing on the shoulder of the road, staring intently into the shadows of the trees. When Tony disconnected from Abby, he clipped his phone back to his hip and moved to stand next to her.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing....." she answered, but Tony heard the hesitation.

"You see something?"

"No, but.....I felt that we were being watched. It's gone now, though."

"Maybe your imagination. The woods at dusk can do that."

"......maybe."

Tony knew neither of them believed it.

"Should we search tonight or in the morning?" Ziva asked, knowing without asking that they would be checking the woods. It would be a daunting task with just the two of them, but she knew they weren't ready to consider outsiders yet. That would be Gibbs' call. Perhaps they would find something, anyway.

"Still light for a little while," Tony suggested. "Maybe we could just see what there is to see before it gets dark."

"And perhaps it is time to call Gibbs."

Tony looked at her, then nodded once. "Let's see if there's anything to see before dark. If we need to stay in town overnight to search more tomorrow, then we'll call him."

Ziva nodded back in agreement. They both knew the odds of the two of them finding anything worthwhile in the woods in the hour and a half before dark.

Tim jogged through the trees, avoiding anything that required energy he didn't have. He ran around fallen branches and sizable rocks rather than hopping over them on the run. His body was slick with sticky sweat, his heart felt near to bursting, and he had a terrible stitch in his side. But he didn't stop until he emerged from the woods on the far side. He'd even avoided the area that he'd left Mutt and Jeff so they couldn't snitch on his direction when they were found. He hoped the mosquitoes made a good meal of them before they were discovered.

When he reached the edge of the woods lining the large interstate, Tim stopped. It wasn't dark yet, but it would be soon, and many of the vehicles already had headlights shining. Tim knew it wasn't going to be easy getting a ride in the dark. He'd much prefer a vehicle of his own without other occupants, but he decided he might have to make concessions until he was able to acquire one. The best he could hope for on a fast moving, crowded interstate was someone willing to pick up a bedraggled hitchhiker.

_Well, maybe it _is_ better that it's getting dark, _Tim rationalized as he inspected his filthy and torn clothing. His clothes were smeared with dirt, blood and sweat two days old and looked as if he'd picked them from a pile of rags.

Tim hitched his pants up and tucked the remains of his shirt in his pants as best he could in an attempt to make himself more presentable. He couldn't hide his gun that way, so he settled for stuffing it into one of his hip pockets. It didn't fit very well, and he'd have to keep a hand in the pocket to keep the gun there, but it was the best he could do. He wasn't willing to ditch it.

Then he ran his hands through his hair from front to back in an effort to tame it, wincing when his fingers brushed the bump from when Mutt had slammed his head against the car window. He grunted in surprise at the tangles and debris his fingers encountered. He gave up after several minutes; he suspected that the only thing that might help now was a good pair of scissors.

Tim didn't have a mirror, but he knew that the best he could do wasn't quite good enough. There was nothing else to be done, though. He couldn't clean his clothing or unwashed body.

Tim watched the four lanes of speeding traffic, then scanned the sides of the interstate as far as he could see. He realized with dismay that if he didn't manage to pick up a ride before dark, he was going to have to hunker down somewhere until daylight. It was quickly obvious that the only light on the interstate would originate from the headlights passing in either direction. There were no streetlights of any kind, no nearby stores or advertising signs that shed any light at all. In hindsight, Tim realized that was par for the course for any large roadway that was on the outskirts of a town or city, but he'd never before realized just how dark that would be. He couldn't very well try walking along the shoulder of a large interstate at night; he'd probably be hit within the hour by wandering off the shoulder in the dark and into the path of the vehicles, or falling down one of the many steep inclines or overpasses that he knew were in abundance but shrouded from his view by the night . Even the stars and the rising moon, which should have been quite visible in the cleaner air of the country setting, seemed sparse and muted.

Tim looked back into the trees, debating his chances, but he knew that it would be chancy to hang around too long. Tony's search party would find him before long. It would be best to get as far away as he could, as soon as he could, then he could get back on Sara's trail. Tim decided to cross all four lanes of the highway before trying to hitchhike. It wasn't much of a defense, but at least he'd be on the other side if the search party made it to his current position before he found a ride. He hoped they weren't searching both sides of the interstate simultaneously, and he'd have to watch for possible roadblocks.

The jog across the lanes was an adventure in itself, but he made it with life and limb intact.

_I think hitchhiking is about ninety percent walking, _Tim groused to himself twenty minutes later. His energy was seriously flagging and he'd developed a slight limp; the shoulder of the interstate was uneven with gravel and sloped into off-highway ditches at irregular intervals, forcing him to walk in a stilted manner most of that time. He'd stepped into a small hole, giving his ankle a twist. He wasn't injured, he knew, but it was painful to put too much weight on it. And to make matters worse, he hadn't had one interested driver stop for him and it was officially night. The sun was a giant, orange, half-orb that was disappearing by the second, allowing the night- time darkness to settle over the speeding vehicles and the patches of woods edging the interstate. Every oncoming car and truck was led by a quick flash of headlights that disappeared in an instant as it passed.

Tim wondered if there was ever a lonelier feeling than to be standing alone on the side of a busy highway at night, and watching all the people passing without a care, focused only on where they were headed. He began to watch each passing vehicle in the lane nearest him, picking one from the blurred line, focusing on one at a time intently. He wanted to see the people inside. He wanted to see heads bobbing to upbeat music on the radio, or kids in the back goofing around happily, or front seat friends or lovers comfortable with their familiar silences. He needed to see people that weren't lonely.

But it was too dark, the cars too fast, and his imagination wasn't enough to sustain him. When he began to stumble in the darkness, he reluctantly decided it was time to find somewhere off the highway to wait out the night.

The wind picked up, cooler than it had been in the day; it was late in the season and though the days were still summer hot, the nights were becoming cooler in preparation for autumn. Then lightning flashed in the distance and Tim knew he was in for a summer storm, and the mystery of the missing stars was solved. They'd be hidden behind clouds that he couldn't see.

_Great. Just what I need, _he thought as he watched the flashes dancing through the distant clouds.

Tim's eyes were drawn to a pair of headlights that joined the flow of heavy traffic, seemingly from nowhere, in the dark, and he realized he was seeing an on ramp to the interstate. That would be his new target, if he could stumble that far safely. He shuddered in the cooling wind that was becoming storm-heavy, but he began to rely on the flashes from the sky for visibility. Each flash gave him an opportunity to see the terrain for a few feet ahead.

By the time he'd traversed the distance to the ramp, which he kept realized only because another car used it to join the interstate, narrowly missing impact with Tim, he'd been stumbling along for a another half hour. He didn't think he'd been that far from it, but he'd been walking as if blind, in a slow and shuffling manner, waiting for the illuminating flashes from above.

It had been not quite an hour since he'd emerged from the woods, and he'd barely progressed half a mile.

Tim followed the on-ramp off the interstate, going against what would be the flow of traffic if another vehicle used it to merge, but he was confident that the oncoming headlights would warn him in time. He hoped. He was just glad that despite the heavy flow of traffic on the interstate, it passed through a small town instead of a city where the merge lanes could be quite dangerous. In this somewhat isolated area, everyone seemed to be passing through, with very few joining the flow by way of the available ramp.

When Tim reached the road beneath the interstate, he spied the lights of a gas station several hundred yards away. He realized instantly that it was the same off-highway gas station that Mutt and Jeff had made use of earlier, where they'd filled the gas tank. He considered heading for it, drawn by the lights, but he knew it would be a bad idea. For one thing, it wasn't one of the larger chain-stores, and in this small town, would likely be closing soon. But more importantly, Tim had already back-tracked a good bit via the shorter interstate, and was probably well within Tony's search party grid. He didn't know if they'd be canvassing more than the woods, but it was highly likely and he wasn't willing to take the chance.

Instead, Tim headed off into the darkness, putting the lights of the gas station at his back, and hoping he could find a place to wait out the night.

"Interesting," Tony remarked humorously as he and Ziva stood side by side, staring at their discovery.

"Yes. Very interesting," Ziva agreed, her head cocked to one side as she examined the sight.

Their 'discovery' glared at the agents with twin expressions of defiance on their faces.

"Well.....at least we'll have a peace offering for Gibbs," Tony pointed out.

"Hmmm," Ziva responded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She was still quite dubious of the reception they'd receive from Gibbs, but a 'gift' might help. She thought Gibbs might like this gift.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna cut us loose?" one half of their discovery groused.

"Yeah," said the other half. "We need to make a police report. We were....uh.....assaulted. And held captive."

"You were?" Tony asked, feigning shock. "That must've been terrible!"

"Yes," Ziva played along. "We'd better get you to the police as soon as possible. What if there's a maniac out on the loose?"

"Yeah, well, uh.....cut us loose and we'll get to the police. We need to make a report, give statements....."

"Sure, sure," Tony agreed quickly, reaching down and pulling his knife from his ankle. He missed Jeff's suspicious expression at the action, but Ziva caught it, though she was unsure of what to make of it.

When Tony stood up, knife In hand, he paused and tilted his head in pretend thought. He peered at the men closely, making a show of his inspection. "You know, you two look kind of familiar," he drawled slowly. "Don't they look familiar, Ziva?"

Ziva cocked her head again, to the other side, and mimicked Tony's inspection. "Yes, I think you're right. I think I may have seen them before."

At the obvious show, the dark haired one that she knew as Paul Tipple let his shoulders sag and let out a resigned sigh. It was obvious to Ziva that he'd put two and two together and realized they were playing with them.

"So you guys cops, or what?" Paul demanded. The blond one, his docket said his name was Lester Jakes-aka Leslie- ,looked over at his partner in surprise, then back at Tony and Ziva. Tony was smiling ingratiatingly.

"Or what," Tony responded. "NCIS, and you two happen to be more than just persons' of interest in one of our current cases."

At the words 'NCIS', Paul's face closed off and he adopted a stubborn demeanor. It was obvious to Ziva that he was the smarter of the two, and might be the harder one to break. She wanted a crack at him _first_.

But the other one......

"Oh, yeah?" Leslie retorted. "Then let me ask you this.....what is it with you NCIS people and your knives? They like issue or something? Cause I think you all must be a bunch of wack jobs."

It was obvious that Leslie was attempting sarcasm and belligerence, but his question meant only one thing to the agents.

Tony's face hardened and lost all signs of humor, feigned or genuine, and he stepped closer to the man restrained to the tree.

"Why, Lester Jakes? Have you seen any other NCIS agents lately?"

"Shut up, Leslie," Paul- aka Jeff- warned his partner.

Ziva stepped forward to within inches of Paul and he quieted. He had to stare down more than a foot and a half to meet her eyes, and her petite frame was a third of his, but he was clearly intimidated by the fierceness in her eyes. She said nothing to him, but he knew a warning when he saw it and, smart man that he was, he heeded it.

Tony didn't wait for Leslie to answer before stepping back. There would be time later to extract information from them about McGee. They obviously knew something, and they hadn't been asking after him for nothing, so they could be useful. Maybe he'd even be able to get them to tell the no-doubt amusing story about how they'd ended up tied to a tree with pummeled faces. A reject from _Deliverance_? A crazed nut case that took a dislike to them? Maybe a delusional recluse living in the woods using them as an example to trespassers. Tony's mind went into overdrive for a moment as he let his imagination conjure up the possibilities.

But it was getting dark, and he'd rather have them safely ensconced in the back of the car and on their trek to join Gibbs before full night set in.

Tony nodded to Ziva and she understood the hint. Both agents ignored Leslie's pointed look to Paul when Ziva produced her own knife, and his muttered "Told you. Wack jobs." Paul just rolled his eyes at his partner.

Less than an hour later, they were on the road again, McGee's Mutt and Jeff tucked into the the backseat, hands still behind their backs, plastic ties replaced with metal handcuffs.

Tim stood behind the slide, watching the car surreptitiously. He'd had a stroke of luck finding it, he just had to think of how best to deal with the occupants.

Tim had seen one glowing light, high on a post, after walking for several minutes. Lacking anywhere else to go, he'd headed for it. He'd been delighted to discover that it was a rest stop on the side of the little highway, complete with picnic tables and a few children's rides, the kind one might find in a park; swings, merry-go-round, a warped plastic slide. Unfortunately, the bathrooms, where he'd thought he might clean up a little, had heavy chains and padlocks restricting the public from using the facilities after dark. While he was contemplating a way to break through, and if it was even worth the effort, and if a wooden table would be more comfortable than the ground to sleep on, he heard voices resonating across the way. Children's voices, it had sounded like.

Now, drawn by the possibilities, Tim watched the family from concealment. Two children, a mother, and a flat tire.

_They'll be okay, _Tim tried to convince himself, his fingers fondling the gun in his pocket absently. _People will stop for a woman and children, especially at night. I need the car more. Somebody would help them before me, they won't be in any danger. They'll probably have a ride before morning, and I can be long gone before a police report is made. They'll be okay._

Tim wavered back and forth between knowing he had to do it, and not wanting to.

_C'mon, Tim, _he encouraged himself, drawing in deep, steadying breaths. _Don't be such a wuss. Do what you've gotta do. It's not like you're gonna hurt them._

Before he could change his mind, Tim stepped out of hiding and strode forward through the dark. He pasted a smile on his face, going for genial good Samaritan......

…..and again, like in the woods, Tim felt something inside himself shift. Something pushed aside his uncertainty and took it's place. Tim's reluctant steps became confident and sure, his forced smile became easy and genuine. He could do this. It was just another step in the process of doing what he had to do to get back on Sara's trail. This was who he was, the new Tim, the man that could put aside all his hangs up, awkwardness and self- consciousness. This was the man that had no problem doing what he had to do, that recognized that some things were more important than the ideals Old Tim held so dear. This was the man that pushed the Old Tim's growing protests down, because he knew when it was time to take over, to get the job done.

By the time the woman heard him and looked up from her struggles with her tire to see him approaching from the shadows, Tim had become the man that knew when it was time to do what he had to do to reach his ultimate goal.

A thunderous roar and a sharp flash of lightening, then the skies opened and let loose the downpour it had been holding.

"There's his car," Tony pointed, squinting through the rain-blurred windshield. The wipers were on high, but couldn't quite keep up with the deluge.

"I see it," Ziva said from behind the wheel. She flicked the blinker and turned into the motel parking lot, pulling in and parking next to Gibbs' cold car. A light was on in the window of the room they knew was his.

"How did he sound?" Ziva asked as she killed the engine. Tony had finally called Gibbs' phone when they were within a few miles of the town they knew him to be in, and she'd tried valiantly to tune out the conversation for the sake of her own nerves. There were very few things Ziva David could claim a true fear of, but Gibbs' wrath was high on her list of things best avoided. Knowing it had been earned and was deserved only made it harder to accept, because then she couldn't, in good conscience, argue in her own defense.

Tony gave her a sideways look, knowing she'd heard his profuse apologies, and maybe even Gibbs' reprimands from the other end. "He sounded like Gibbs, Zee-vah," he said testily.

Ziva nodded once. "So I should prepare myself – yes?"

Tony looked at her and, in a less irritated tone, and with a touch of added humor, said, "If you can. Ready?"

"Yes. I'd rather go inside on my own than wait for him to get tired of waiting and come get us."

Tony cringed at the thought and nodded; that was not a pleasant prospect. He turned to look over the seat at the two passengers, who looked anything but happy at their new arrangements; Tony had recuffed them so that each of them had one hand handcuffed to the grip handle above their respective doors, and in the middle of the seat, Paul/Jeff's wrist was cuffed to Leslie/Mutt's wrist. In addition, Tony had creatively used more of the plastic ties he'd found on them to secure their ankles together as an extra precaution. They wouldn't be going anywhere unless they both got free of at least one handcuff, freed their ankles and got through the doors that, thanks to handy child-locks, only opened from the outside. And of course, then they'd still be cuffed to each other.

"Stay put, kiddies," Tony said with a wink. "The grown ups have to talk, then we'll come back for you." Tony and Ziva both opened their doors and stepped out. "Won't be but a minute," Tony called in fake concern before he slammed his door shut. Ziva hit the button on the key fob, and the car gave it's register beep signaling that the alarm was active.

**Please Review! ; )**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing NCIS related.**

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long, folks, but here's the next chapter.**

Gibbs saw the headlights illuminate the window but he didn't move. Tony knew he was waiting for them and would correctly assume he'd left the door unlocked for them.

Gibbs had known almost from the beginning that Tony would join him, and probably Ziva, too. Besides the fact that he knew how his people thought, Abby couldn't keep a secret from him. It was his team that often kept _him_ in line as much as he kept them in line, and Gibbs had known they wouldn't let him run off on his solitary hunt for long. The were all worried about McGee and wanted a part in the search, and besides that, Tony would be worried about Gibbs himself. Gibbs knew that. Tony and Ziva had done exactly what Gibbs had expected, but not what he wanted _them_ to know he expected. He couldn't let them think he condoned ignoring his orders. It was one of the things that kept them sharp and made them all a good team. Gibbs gave the orders and they followed them. They had to know his expectations or they couldn't function as the team they were. And it also meant his team knew the seriousness of any situation, which was imperative for a good agent. It gave them the experience of making decisions that might have consequences later, but were important enough to risk it. It taught them to make such choices, and they would all need that later if any one of them ever led their own team.

And besides that, Gibbs didn't like to be disobeyed. He had rules for a reason. He had to make sure they remembered that. It wasn't the fact that they'd come to join him that had pissed him off, so much as the fact that they'd blatantly ignore the most important rule he'd taught all his agents. Even Abby knew and followed the all-important rule.

Gibbs sat in a chair by the bed, looking deceptively calm when his agents opened the door and walked in, but the second the door clicked shut behind Ziva, he was on them.

The speed with which he advanced on them was obviously unexpected. Gibbs invaded their space, advancing forward step by quick step, forcing them backward until DiNozzo's back was against the wall. Ziva had avoided being pinned under his gaze against the wall by taking a smooth sidestep at the last moment, but Gibbs wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. She was as much a part of it as DiNozzo was. Gibbs' hand reached out and tugged her into place next to DiNozzo, her space as well as her partner's now being invaded to within inches. Other than to tug Ziva into place, he hadn't had to lay a hand on them. His presence and his glare were enough.

Gibbs knew having someone almost chest to chest, nose to nose to you was an uncomfortable position that usually put defenses up, and he knew it was a small hint at their respect for Gibbs and his authority that they allowed it. Not that he'd give them a choice, of course, but all of his team were quite able to take care of themselves. They would have never stood down to accept such a thing from anyone else, even if that person had the same skills or level of intimidation as Gibbs. Even if that person were someone of authority. Authority didn't automatically breed respect, and his people knew that. Respect was something that was earned, and you had to work at it to keep it.

"Hiya, Boss," DiNozzo said nervously, trying hard to avoid the blue eyes inches from his own.

"Rule number one, DiNozzo," Gibbs demanded, his tone made of steel.

"Boss?" DiNozzo stuttered. That trait was characteristic for DiNozzo only when facing Gibbs' anger.

"What. Is. Rule. Number. One."

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Ziva's voice piped up first.

"Never be unreachable," she answered, then added a hasty, "Boss," when Gibbs' eyes shifted the tiny bit needed to train her in his sight. Gibbs knew she was making an attempt to show her respect, because she tended to call him Gibbs instead of 'Boss' most of the time. It was understood to his team that, though the formality belied the affection in the name- and the pride that they were the only ones allowed to call him that- the word Boss replaced Sir under most circumstances.

Well, that and because she didn't argue. She was a good one for arguing her defense. That was good most of the time; one needed to stand up for oneself and one's beliefs. Arguing would have made this situation worse, however, and Gibbs was glad Ziva recognized that.

"What she said," Tony interjected quickly with a weak smile that quickly disappeared when Gibbs focused back on him. "I meant, uh.....never be unreachable, Boss. Rule number one. Got it."

"Do you, DiNozzo? Because it sure doesn't seem like it. How many times did I call you...._both_ of you "- here, his eyes flickered between them, "- and neither of you bothered to answer."

"We are....._I_ am sorry, Gibbs. It was a mistake and it shouldn't have happened."

Tony glared at Ziva for her obvious attempt to speak for herself instead of both of them and offered his own apology. "It won't happen again, Boss. It was a stupid thing to do."

"Damn right, it was," Gibbs growled into their faces. "Neither one of you are probies. This is the kind of stunt some immature, inexperienced kid fresh from the academy would pull. Not two of _my_ team, because _my_ team knows better. Agents that are on my team, and expect to _stay_ on my team, know the importance of that rule."

"Yes, Boss."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Gibbs voice lowered to that quieter, more serious tone that he knew let his agents know he meant business. "I will say this one time only, because I never thought I'd have to to either one of you. _This will not happen again_. For any reason. Have I made myself very clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Tony said respectfully, his eyes meeting Gibbs' before returning to the floor. After a small hesitation, Ziva repeated him. Gibbs said nothing about the fact that they'd both used the usually forbidden title. Some things just called for it, and he knew they were trying to convey as much respect as they could in the one word. He took it at face value and in the way it was intended.

Gibbs stepped back and hid a smile as the two took almost identical breaths of relief. "Good," he said. "Now give me your phones."

Tony's eyes widened a little at the order. He knew better than any of them how inventive Gibbs could get when he was out to teach his agents a lesson of some sort. His mind flashed back to the 'PDA and NCIS cap' incident he and Kate had suffered through during a lesson at the shooting range a few years ago.

"Boss?" Tony questioned, his usual stalling tactic.

Ziva hesitated as well, an inquiring look on her face.

Gibbs responded to Tony's question with a sharp head-slap and Ziva offered her phone quickly, hoping to avoid the same. Gibbs was a little more sparing with head-slaps to the women, McGee and DiNozzo taking the lion's share, but it was always a possibility, and Gibbs was glad to see that Ziva remembered that.

DiNozzo rubbed the back of his head and unclipped his phone from his belt. His face was sullen when he relinquished it to his boss. "When can we have 'em back, Boss? 'Cause, you know, I'm waiting for calls from a couple of girls I gave my number to last week......but of course that doesn't matter, Boss. Keep it as long as you want."

Gibbs smirked at DiNozzo's quick turnaround, which had come about as the result of a patented 'Gibbs-stare'. "I will," he informed his senior agent dryly.

Gibbs tossed both phones into his duffel, which was on the bed, then pulled two plastic packages from it. He tossed one package to each of the agents.

Tony and Ziva examined the little packages, quickly realizing what they were. Both looked up at Gibbs in dismay, Tony much more so than Ziva.

"C'mon, Boss. Really?"

Ziva just sighed.

"Until you two can re-learn what 'never be unreachable' means, you don't deserve to have your phones. You can have 'em back when you've earned em."

"But.....pre-paid phones, Boss?"

"Get 'em programmed, then call Abby and Ducky with your new numbers, no one else. Then both of you call my phone so I'll have it."

"Yes, Boss," Tony said reluctantly.

Ziva said nothing, but she busied herself with cutting the stubborn plastic open with her knife.

"Uh....Boss?"

"What, DiNozzo."

"I almost forgot. We've got a little gift for you, too."

The woman stood up quickly, her tire iron gripped tightly in two fists. She threw a quick glance to the little boy and baby in the car then back to Tim's approaching figure. The downpour had already soaked both of them and the woman's hair hung limp and plastered to her head. Tim knew he had to tread carefully so as not to let things get out of hand. A scared woman protecting her children from harm was the most dangerous creature of all.

Tim stopped a few feet away- within talking distance under the rain and thunder- and held his hands up peaceably. That un-Tim-like smile that had become so easy never faltered. There was confidence in Tim's stance, no unsureness in his smile. He didn't know what kind of picture he presented to the woman, soaking wet as he was, bruises on his face and filthy clothes, but he knew he could make her see past all that with his smile and bearing, with the right words and tone of voice. Old Tim, having been pushed aside by New Tim, was frightened of that fact, because he knew that the friendly show was an act for the woman's benefit, to gain her trust. New Tim was a good actor, and he was hiding his true intention like a pro.

"It's okay," Tim called to the woman. "Just saw you trying to change your tire, thought you might need help."

The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Thanks, but I'm okay."

"You sure? Looked like you were having trouble."

She bit her lip, clearly nervous and uncertain. She glanced again at her children in the dark car, but it was a quick look. She seemed afraid of taking her eyes off Tim.

_She's right to be afraid, _Old Tim realized. _Don't do this, Tim, _he tried telling himself. _It's important to find Sara's trail, but there are other ways. This isn't you._

_Yes, it is, _he argued with himself, New Tim to Old Tim. _This is me now, and it has to be that way. It's the only way to save Sara. To become like those that I'm hunting._

As if from afar, Old Tim watched himself in dread as New Tim continued the act.

"It's okay," Tim tried to reassure the woman in a calm tone. He moved a few steps closer. "I know you have to be careful, but I'm not out to hurt anyone. I just thought you might need help. I mean, you're stuck out here in the dark, in a storm, and it looks like with a couple of kids. I'm a federal agent."

"Let me see your badge," the woman demanded.

"Sure." He just hoped he still had it after his run through the woods and his tussles with Mutt and Jeff; he hadn't thought to check. His mask never slipped, but he was relieved when his fingers felt it's familiar shape and texture when he reached for it. He flipped it open and extended it out for the woman's view, but she clearly couldn't see it through the rain, so he tossed it to her lightly. She caught it easily, but kept the tire iron raised with the hand left holding it while she squinted to inspect the id in the dark and rain.

"NCIS? I've never heard of that."

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services," he answered. "Special agent Timothy McGee."

"Badge number?"

Tim smiled at her thoroughness, but he couldn't really blame her for her precaution. _Too bad she doesn't know I'm one of the ones she should be watching out for, _Tim thought to himself. He was filled, for just a quick second, with something he'd never really experienced before, not to that extreme. Arrogance. Tim knew she was falling for the deceptive charms he'd never before posessed, and he looked at her through eyes that were cool. He felt that he could do anything, make anything happen. He felt smarter than her in a way that had nothing to do with his high IQ. Superior. He was playing her for his own uses, and the woman had no idea. Tim McGee was becoming something he'd always loathed.

And he liked it. Part of him, anyway.

He rattled off his memorized badge number and watched as her defenses fell. _Bingo!_

She tossed his badge back to him, then held out the tire iron. "The lugnuts are on too tight," she explained wearily. "I can't get them off."

Tim took the lug-wrench from her and smiled wider. "No problem. I'll have you fixed up in no time. A woman stranded with her two kids...... you can't be too careful out here."

Tony smirked at the two men handcuffed in the chairs. He didn't envy them. Tony had found himself on the other end of 'Gibbs-stares' often enough to know what it was like, and _those_ stares were the ones meant for his agents, whom Gibbs _liked_.

Not for the first time, Tony was immensely grateful that he'd never have the unfortunate displeasure of being on the other end of a 'Gibbs-interrogation-stare'. It was well known throughout NCIS, parts of the FBI that they'd had the dubious pleasure of working with, and amongst several past-criminals now doing time that Gibbs' interrogations for the truth could be as brutal as the American law allowed (and don't even get Ziva started on that subject). And those brutal and intimidating interrogations were just in the course of the job, Gibbs' quest for the truth.

But anyone incarcerated in the interrogation room that might have, in some way, put one of Gibbs' people in danger were the unluckiest of the unlucky. Tony had seen it himself and watched many of the interrogations in glee. He enjoyed the shows. Intimidation and cunning were the only weapons Gibbs was allowed to use in the course of an official interrogation, and the former marine used those weapons well. Tony had gotten the sense, however, that when one of Gibbs people had been threatened by the one being interrogated, Gibbs held back only with a strong effort, only _barely _managingto follow the laws and procedures put in place by NCIS and the government that were there to protect the prisoner. Or _suspect_, as the legal department would insist they be called until they were charged.

But these men not only probably had info of some sort about the team's missing comrade, but might have very likely threatened or hurt McGee in some way.

And _this_ interrogation wasn't taking place in the monitored and secure safety of NCIS.

Both men's faces shone with a sheen of nervous perspiration and the blond hulk of a man- Leslie- was......

Tony looked closer; was the man's lip quivering? It was! The man seemed to have lost his sarcastic attitude and was quickly becoming a large, quivering, sweaty bundle of nerves.

The typical response to a Gibbs interrogation.

It probably didn't help that Gibbs was crouched down, his face inches from Leslie's with those intense eyes staring into the blonde's, and Gibbs' fingers tight around Leslie's throat.

It was easy to see it was a tight grip, because Gibbs' five fingers indented the skin and the man's neck was tinted white where Gibb's was gripping, but Tony knew Gibbs had impeccable control. Nothing would happen that Gibbs didn't mean to happen; no accidental deaths, say, or a ruptured larynx.

The man wouldn't _really_ be hurt, Tony was telling himself.

Well.....not by _accident_.

"How about now?" Gibbs was asking Leslie. "Is it coming to you yet? Is that faulty memory of yours being jogged? Where....is.....Timothy......McGee!"

"You can't do that," the dark haired prisoner – Paul- objected from his seat next to Leslie. "That's not legal! You're federal agents!"

Ziva stepped quickly around behind Paul, leaned forward to see his face, and said " I'm not. Not really. But you know that, don't you? You must, if you know all about us."

Tony smiled. While he had chosen to simply watch the show- for now- Ziva had chafed to take an active part. The prisoners had missed the inquiring glance she'd shot Gibbs and Gibbs' imperceptible nod of permission, but Tony hadn't. Ziva had been impatient to participate, as she usually was, but Gibbs had warned her before they'd brought the men in that she had to watch herself. There was only so far they could take it, even outside of legal parameters, and impatient as she'd been, she'd paced herself, obligated to wait until the Boss allowed it. But Paul opening his mouth had been the perfect cue; she would keep him occupied so he couldn't try coaching his partner while Gibbs was attempting to extract information.

Unfortunately for Paul, Ziva had already made quite an impression on him in the woods, and at her insinuating words, his face paled visibly and he became markedly more nervous with her behind him.

_And she's not even hurting him, _Tony thought. The Mossad agent was simply resting her hands on the man's shoulders, but he was silent and pale, hyper-tuned to her presence behind him. Ziva was quite knowledgeable about mind games as a torture technique. She'd once explained to Tony that one's biggest enemy was one's own imagination, and he saw this as proof. He had no doubt Paul was remembering Ziva's small display of knife-play in the woods.

Tony shook his head in silent derision. For two men that looked and acted so tough, those two didn't have much to be proud of under pressure.

"Okay," Leslie gasped, trying to shrink away from Gibbs' face, "Okay! We don't know for sure where he was headed, he was followin' someone, you know? It was just our job to grab him and take him to our bosses. But after he tied us...... uh, after he got away from us, he looked at a text on his phone that he got earlier, and he said the words 'Harlan, Kentucky'. I guess he's goin' there, but that's all we know."

Gibbs slowly released Leslie's throat, but he didn't move his face from the other man's. "If I find out you're lying-"

"I'm not. That's all I know, I swear."

"Well, maybe all you know about where Tim's going. We'll also want to know everything about your bosses," Tony pointed out, not moving from his spot against the wall.

"What did you mean, Tim read a text? Someone texted him?" Gibbs flicked a glance at Tony, then back to Leslie, but Tony knew what the brief glance meant. As he knew Gibbs wanted, he called Abby and confirmed what she'd mentioned before, that Sara's phone had been sending texts before the signal had been lost for good. Before they disconnected, Abby happily gave Tony the news that she'd managed to gleen the phone number of Tim's prepaid phone. There was also a signal to follow, but it was spotty, and often disappeared for periods of time before showing up again. Abby attributed it to the fact that it was simply a cheap, prepaid knock off.

When Tony tuned back into Gibbs' interrogation, he was amused at what he heard.

"So you're telling me," Gibbs was saying incredulously, "that Tim actually got a text while you had him in your custody, tied up in the back of your car, and he told you it was his watch alarm?"

"Yeah, so?" Leslie asked defensively. Paul had the sense to at least looked embarrassed, though he stayed silent under Ziva's subtle threats.

Gibbs just shook his head.

Tony pushed himself away from the wall and went up to stand next to Gibbs. "There's a chance, Boss, that McProbie has a good Samaritan out there helping him."

"What make you think that, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, we found these guys tied to trees in the woods, stripped of all the weapons they were complaining about, their faces beat up.....someone overpowered them and worked them over, Boss, but good, then tied them up."

"Wasn't no good Samaritan," Paul finally piped up. "It was the agent. Tim McGee. He just got the upper hand."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony interrupted, his hands in the air as if to hold of any more claims. "You're telling me that McGee, _our _McGee, tall, baby-faced blond guy.....that _he_ overpowered you two hulks, beat you up, then tied you to a tree?"

"It's his fault," Paul accused with a nod at Leslie. "He was supposed to watch him closer."

"How was I supposed to know he was gonna take off like that?"

"His hands were tied, you idiot! It shouldn't have been hard to keep him close!"

"Maybe he was tied, but that didn't stop him from sticking that knife in your shoulder, did it?"

"Yeah? Well what about when we finally caught up to him? You had the gun on him, and he still beat the crap outta you," Paul reminded his blond partner. Neither of the prisoners seemed to notice the three agent's amused eyes bumping back and forth between the speakers as if they were watching a tennis match.

"He knocked it out of my hand with that branch! I coulda used you help then, too, Paul, but you were too busy rolling around on the ground."

"Whadda you expect? He kicked me in the head! It took a few minutes to recover."

"That's enough," Gibbs insisted. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone had that quality that insisted people listen. Both men swallowed their forthcoming words and turned their heads to Gibbs. "So the bottom line is, McGee took you two out on his own? With his hands tied?"

"That's my boy," Tony said quietly, suddenly proud. Ziva was grinning at the thought, and Gibbs seemed amused and proud at the same time, but Tony wondered at the look of worry in his boss' eyes.

"Yeah," Leslie confirmed, "and he stole our weapons, too, so NCIS owes us a few thousand dollars. There's no telling what he did with 'em all."

"I don't think you'll be needing weapons, or money, where you're going. Tony, Ziva, get our bags bag to the car, then get something to eat while you can. We'll be leaving soon, and we won't be stopping for awhile."

"Harlan, Kentucky, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Yep," Gibbs said, then leaned down close to Leslie's face again. "Now.....about your bosses."

Tim stood up and swiped a hand across his face to clear his vision of the still-falling rain.

"There you go," he said. "All better."

"Thanks," the woman said, coming around the front of the car to meet him. Even in the storm, she'd refused to wait in the car with her children as Tim changed the tire. She seemed to feel the need to keep her eyes on him, and Tim wondered if she sensed he wasn't only good intentions.

Tim held the tire iron out for her to take, and when her hand closed around it, Tim pulled hard, just enough to cause her to stumble toward him.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her feet from the muddy ground, then tossed the tire iron away in favor of grabbing the gun at his back.

"Don't hurt me," the woman pleaded. "Please."

"I don't want to hurt you," Tim said to her, barely recognizing his own voice. "I won't hurt you as long as you do what I say."

"Oh, God," the woman sobbed, clearly assuming on her own what a strange man might want from her. "Please, I won't fight you if you just.....take me where my kids won't see, and promise not to hurt them. Please."

Tim's heart wrenched at the fear and desperation in the woman's voice, but even as his arms loosened a tiny fraction, his heart hardened.

_Stop being a wuss!_ New Tim demanded, and Tim's arms tightened around her again, and she sobbed, clearly seeing it as an aggressive move on his part. _You can do this, Tim, _he coached himself. _You're not gonna hurt her if she does what you want._

For a quick second, that soothed Tim's guilt and he raised the gun with the intention of scaring her. His hand stilled halfway there, though, as a thought hit him. The woman gasped as the gun was held directly in her line of sight, having stopped before being brought to her head as intended, but she clearly thought it was being shown to her as a threat. Tim was oblivious to her gasp or her ceasing struggles, hit with the intensity of the thought that had come to him.

If_ she does what you want, _Tim repeated to himself. _And what if she doesn't? What then? Is that when you jump off the deep end and put a bullet in her head? You can't do this!_

_Yes you can, _he argued with himself, New Tim regaining possession of his mind. _You can do whatever you have to do, for Sarah. She's all that matters._

_But she shouldn't be, _Tim reminded himself, even as his body began moving.

Tim pulled the woman back against him tighter still, her feet held off the ground by his height, and he placed the muzzle of his gun against her temple. The rain hid the tears he knew were on her face, but the fear wasn't hidden in her voice.

"Please," she sobbed once, then said nothing else, but her body was shaking, and it wasn't from the late-summer storm. Tim's mind tried to tell him, over and over, that it wasn't right, what he was doing; he was supposed to be the protector_, _for God's sake! He had his job for a reason. He wanted to _help_ people, not hurt them.

But every time, Sara's face popped into his head, quelling the inner argument, and New Tim would harshly remind himself that he had to do what he had to do. _I haven't let anything get in my way up to now. I'm certainly not gonna let _my own _hangups stop me!_

"I'm _not_ gonna hurt you," Tim stressed again. "I just need your car. That's it."

He moved toward the vehicle, still holding her tight, until he reached the back door. He holstered his gun to reach for the handle.

"No!" the woman screamed, struggling for the first time "No! Don't you touch them!"

Tim almost dropped her, but used both arms to hold her tight. He held her against him, but her arms and legs were flailing, not completely without purpose. He took several knocks in the face from her elbows and fists and both shins would be mightily bruised later, he knew.

Before unwinding one arm from her waist to gain control of her arms, Tim spied the little moon face of the little boy, pressed against the backseat car window, staring through the rain-sheeted glass at his mother's struggle. The baby behind the boy, in the car seat, was oblivious, but the boy's face showed fear and he was shouting something intelligible.

Tim tore his gaze away from the boy, not liking what it was doing to his resolve to carry through.

_I'm officially the bad guy, _Tim realized, and he felt as if he could sob right along with the mother and her child. _From this day forward, I will always be in the memory of that little boy as the bad man that he thinks is hurting his mom. I'll be the scary shadow in the rainy night, and he'll remember my face in his childhood nightmares._

Tim pushed that terrible revelation from his head and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He quickly regained control of the woman's arms and held them down firmly. He lowered his head to speak directly in her ear.

"Stop it," he hissed. "Stop it. I'm not going to hurt you or your kids. I just want the car. That's all."

The woman seemed to forcibly calm herself, taking several deep breaths. Her hair was rain-plastered to her face, obscuring her features.

"Just the car?" she asked tremulously. "You won't hurt my kids?"

"Just the car," he confirmed. "I won't touch them. I'll let you go so you can get them out, but don't you go anywhere. I have a gun."

Tim felt smaller that small as he reminded her of his weapon, making the threat clear. The woman, however, responded with a bit of sarcasm, which was quite admirable in her situation.

"_Go anywhere_? Where would I go? Anyway, I wouldn't run and leave my babies with _you!_"

That was true, and Tim realized he hadn't been thinking as clearly as he'd though he was. The whole drama had probably been unnecessary. Most likely, a flash of the gun and a command to remove the children from the car would have gotten the job done. There was nowhere out there, in the middle of nowhere and after dark, that the woman could have gotten to to report the car theft before he would have been long gone, and as she'd said- she wouldn't have left the children. She would have done what he wanted to protect her kids, even if it meant being stranded without her car.

Tim realized with a jolt that there had been no need for him to restrain her, or put his hands on her at all, and he wondered how far he would have taken it. As if her body had burned him, Tim dropped the woman to her feet and pulled his arms away, taking a couple quick steps backward. Just in case she decided to try anything.

"Get them out," Tim ordered her abruptly. She hastened to the back door and yanked it open as Tim walked around and opened the the driver's door and climbed behind the wheel. He turned in his seat to better see her clearly as she climbed across the seat to extract the baby from the car seat. She had to be directly behind him to do so, and he didn't relish the idea of a knock on the back of the head or something.

You're_ low, Tim, _he berated himself. Even in his mind, the tone was disgusted. _You're the lowest of the low. You're putting a mother, a small child and a baby out on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, at midnight, in the middle of a storm._

_Oh, stop it!_ New Tim interjected. _You're not hurting them. They'll be fine_.

Tim pulled away, headlights showing the way, leaving the mother and children behind in the rain and dark.

It was the next thought that brought him back to himself. _So this is what you've become._

Tim slammed on the brakes, the car skidding a little on the rain-slicked road, and finally coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road.

What the hell was he doing? He'd just put that mother and her children out on the side of the road! His parents would be ashamed, Sara would be appalled and guilt-ridden that he'd done these things for her. And Gibbs......that didn't even bear thinking about, and Tim quailed inside at the idea of hearing what Gibbs would have to say on the matter. Gibbs was already going to have plenty to say when he had to arrest Tim for the things he'd done; no need to add fuel to the fire. He hoped the rest of the team never found out. He couldn't imagine what they thought of him by now, their former friend and teammate seemingly gone rogue, but Tim desperately hoped they didn't find out about this, his lowest deed ever.

Tim reversed the car and slowly traversed backwards to his starting position, his heart shriveling in shame at the fear of the woman when she saw him returning. She clutched her children to her and backed away, looking around in desperation for help that wasn't there.

Tim hated himself more than ever at that moment.

He slammed the car into park and emerged quickly, hoping to forestall the woman trying to flee.

"Wait," he called to he as she retreated backwards with the children. "I'm sorry! I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear. You can have the car back. I'm so sorry."

He waited for her but, not unexpectedly, she didn't approach him. He didn't blame her; in her mind, he was a dangerous man, and she had her children to protect.

He would have like to soothe her, make her trust him, make her realize he wasn't who she though he was, but he knew it wasn't feasible. So instead, Tim reached into the car and grabbed her purse, which had still been sitting between the seats when he'd taken it. Feeling like a heel, Tim rooted around in the purse while the woman watched, until he found what he was looking for.

He pulled her cell phone out, dropped it to the wet ground, and smashed it with his heel.

"I'm sorry," he said to her again. "I had to. Just to give me a chance to get away. I understand if you report me in the next town or when you get home, but I just need a head start. I know you probably won't believe this, or understand, but I'm desperate. I'm so sorry I scared you. I'll just leave. You can have your car back."

The woman said nothing, just clutched her children and stared. Tim figured this would probably be in her books as the scariest and strangest encounter she'd ever had. Tim wanted to make her understand, but he couldn't spare the time, and anyway, he knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness. So instead of apologizing a hundred more times as he wanted to, he slunk off into the dark rain, thoroughly ashamed of himself. He heard the car start several minutes later and squeal away, and he knew the terrified woman had waited until his form was well out of sight.

_Time to find an unoccupied car, _Tim told himself as he trudged through the mud under his feet. He tried to push the fear of himself to the back of his mind; he had other things to worry about, like getting to Harlan, Kentucky. But he couldn't help but wonder what would happen when the day came that he couldn't bring himself back to his senses when his new, baser nature took over.

**Please Review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything related and I make no money from writing about it.**

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, everyone, but here's the next chapter.**

**I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and/or Happy (insert personal holiday here). Hope that covered everyone!**

* * *

"Well, if what dumb and dumber back there say is true, our Probie's a popular guy," Tony pointed out with a nod to the back seat where their prisoners sat, hands still restrained behind them. For all their bulk, the two large men were pushed as close together as they could get in Paul's attempt to avoid contact with Ziva, who shared the backseat with them. Ziva sat against the back door on the driver's side with almost a foot of space between her and the two men. Leslie, the one on the far side, was pressed up against his door, almost sitting on his hip to get more comfortable.

Other than answering the questions the agents threw at them while Gibbs drove, neither man had spoken during the drive. And now, sitting in the parking lot of a diner while the agents ate a quick dinner, Paul continued to shoot occasional wary glances at Ziva, but she'd yet to do anything but give them smug looks as they answered more questions promptly. The two thugs had obviously come to the realization that resisting would get them nowhere. Gibbs had refused to tell he and Ziva what had happened in that motel room when the two agents had gone to get burgers for them all, leaving him alone with the two men, but Tony knew it had been the turning point in the thugs' cooperation. Now, the next morning, hours restrained in the back of the car seemed to have driven all opposition out of the men.

"Seems that way," Gibbs agreed with Tony's assessment.

Tony gave a small nod, then looked back at Gibbs. It struck him for the first time how tired his boss looked, and Tony suddenly realized that Gibbs had probably rested very little since he'd begun hunting McGee. In his opinion, they'd joined the Boss just in time. _Someone_ had to keep an eye on him, after all, and that was a job Tony had taken seriously for years.

"This is all very crazy," Ziva concurred from the back, and Tony smirked at Paul, who's started at Ziva's voice. Paul was genuinely afraid of her. Not that Tony could blame him, of course, but really.......couldn't the man at least put on a brave face? Paul was as cowardly as his partner was dumb, so far as Tony could tell. He'd shown no real fear of the men, nervousness and caution yes, but Ziva had put the fear of God in him. Maybe when they got back on the road, they should consider putting Paul in the car Ziva was driving? _Well, maybe not, _Tony decided inwardly. That might be the end of Paul's nerves. Or the end of Paul.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "What are the odds that _one_ group of degenerates goes after Tim? Never mind two. Let me tell you, fellas," Tony turned in his seat and addressed the men in the back, "I'm fond of Probie, and he has his moments, but he's not worth fighting over." As per usual, Tony tried to cover his worry with jokes. It was such a natural thing for him that he no longer thought about it.

"You're tellin' me," Leslie mumbled. "He's annoying as hell."

Tony shot a glare at the blond man, but before he could speak, Ziva's hand had reached around behind Paul's hunched form and connected with the back of Leslie's head in slap almost worthy of Gibbs.

"Shit!" Leslie cursed.

"_We _can say things like that," Ziva growled at the man. "_You _cannot."

Tony caught Gibbs' small smile from the corner of his eye that Gibbs tried to cover up with a big bite of his sausage biscuit.

"You're a cop! You're not allowed to hit me!" Leslie cried indignantly. He cursed again when the flat of Ziva's hand connected to the back of his head a second time.

"I am not a 'cop'," she said simply.

Ziva seemed to be having entirely too much fun, but Tony was enjoying the show. Gibbs, however, apparently decided to take the road of propriety.

"Ziva," Gibbs said quietly from the driver's seat, but it was enough. Ziva pulled away and sat back, but she didn't hide her smile.

Tony noticed that Gibbs hadn't lost his, either.

McGee _was_ suddenly popular, Tony mused to himself, but with the all the wrong people. They'd known part of what was going on, for a couple days anyway, because the man that had been watching the team- the potential hit man- had talked soon after Tony and Ziva had found him hanging around NCIS, arrested him, and interrogated him. Tony had the Navy yard security to thank for that- they'd been informed of the potential threat and had remembered seeing an unfamiliar face hanging around a little too much. It had been nothing for them to scan the security video, then detain him when they saw him again, just hours later. Tony had been a bit disappointed that the man had caved so easily in interrogation. He'd been expecting a challenge. Had looked forward to having the man resist a little so Tony could take some his frustration out on him.

He'd given up his boss, for one thing. A Mr. Jonathon Allen. Once Tony had the name and probable location, _he_ hadn't been hard to get, either. They'd simply gone to his address and arrested him. He had been a little harder to crack, but he hadn't been formidable.

And all of it centered around some top secret coded information that had somehow gotten into the greedy hands of two different people. Two people who had no idea how to decode the information. Which led them, each independently, to one Timothy McGee.

Allen was a small time crook that wanted to be big time. A small fish in the large pond of organized crime. He had a few followers that assisted him in his ambitious but petty crimes, and when a contact of his- a Navy man at sea- passed along some delicate information, Allen had seen his chance to climb the ladder in the crime world. But first he had to have the information decoded so he would know what it was and it's potential value. And his contact had included a name with the information he'd passed along, a name that had been heard more than once of late, in a few discreet circles, according to Allen. A man that could help him with the coded information. A man named Tim McGee.

_Unfortunately for Allen, _Tony thought to himself, _McGee's on the right side of the law. _

Enter Sara McGee. And the threat to the lives of McGee's teammates, his friends. Allen had to have leverage over McGee to make him do what he needed. He just should have made sure his hit man was a bit more stoic, because he'd folded like a cheap suit in interrogation.

_I just wish McGee had come to us instead of trying to protect us,_Tony groused silently. _But then again, I might even have done the same thing._ Tony couldn't really blame McGee's actions too much. He'd been between a rock and a hard place, and he'd had Sara's safety to think about, too, and that was something Tony couldn't really relate to, being an only child with no real ties to family. But the team had become family, and Tony would do the same for any of them.

Then a new person had entered the scene, this they'd learned in the motel-room interrogation with McGee's hulks.

The new person was a bigger fish than Allen in the same pond- and he'd had the same idea. James Capricio, a crime boss that was reckoned with in his circles. His people were more than just semi-loyal followers; they were employees paid well enough for the things they were expected to do, and Capricio and his people were into more than petty crimes.

It wasn't known yet how Capricio had come to posses the same classified and coded information that Allen had, or how he'd come to have heard of Tim McGee; Dumb and Dumber in the back seat hadn't been privy to that information, themselves. When they'd finally cracked and told their boss' name, though, all three agents had recognized it. Capricio was a prominent and well known name around DC, heard often in the news and in the bull pens of every law enforcement agency, particularly those that made use of the alphabet- FBI, CIA and NCIS being just a few. Capricio had his hands in quite a few pots, but nothing had ever been pinned on him and lasted.

Tony couldn't help but wonder how McGee's name had come to be bandied about in the crime circles, and whether it was something they should worry about; surely there were other people that could do the same things as McGee, but without the same boy scout ideals, or the same risks to the bad guys. McGee was a federal agent, for Pete's sake! There were plenty of non-law official's out there that had similar computer skills; Tony had arrested a few of them himself.

Somehow, Capricio had learned that Allen had kidnapped Sara and was going to use her to gain McGee's cooperation, and he certainly couldn't have that. He'd intended to requisition McGee's assistance himself, and Allen had interfered with his plan. So Capricio had dispatched a few of his people to converge on the place McGee was supposed to meet Allen- the objective was to gain custody of Sara themselves, to insure McGee's cooperation, and maybe even toss a few warnings and injuries in there to Allen and his people to remind them that they were lower on the food chain.

But Allen and his people had managed to stay a step ahead of Capricio, having found out about his interest in their activities, and that had resulted in the hasty abandonment of the meeting place that McGee had found soon after.

After that, according to Allen, his people had been running scared with Sara still in their custody, especially since Allen had recently been arrested and no longer reachable to give orders; hence, McGee's cross country pursuit.

And according to Paul and Leslie, they had been dispatched by their boss, Capricio, to keep on Tim's trail, grab him, and bring him to their boss at the soonest possibility. He'd get McGee's cooperation without Sara, if need be. It was just their bad luck that McGee's desperation to find his sister had given him whatever grit he'd needed to either evade Capricio's two henchman or fight them off each time they'd closed in on him.

Tony shook his head, trying to clear it. They'd gained a boat load of information just in the last few hours that had given them all the missing pieces about what was going on, and it was making his head hurt.

And he really wanted to know what those two crime bosses had possessed that was worth all that. They'd gotten it from Allen, but had yet to learn what it was; Abby was unable to crack the code.

Gibbs had mentioned his worry about the state of mind of Sara's collective captors; their boss had rolled over on them, and they were running scared without direction. Abby had learned, however, that Allen had a secluded hunting cabin in Harlan, Kentucky, so their direction made sense, and it was probably their final destination. They'd likely planned on hunkering down until receiving further orders from Allen, which they wouldn't get now. They could be feeling desperate or cornered, and that was never a good thing. It wouldn't be good for Sara, and it wouldn't be good for McGee, who was obviously intent on going up against them.

They had to find Probie soon, before he did something stupid that could get him, and his sister, killed.

_In the meantime_, Tony decided with a glance at Gibbs' profile, _maybe I can get the Boss to get a little rest now that he has help._

Yeah, right.

"Alright, lunch is over," Gibbs declared, interrupting Tony's wandering thoughts. "We've wasted enough time. Gotta get back on McGee's trail. Ziva," he addressed the Mossad officer as she exited the backseat to return to the car she was driving, "Stay close, but leave us a little room this time."

She scowled at Gibbs' order but nodded her head, and Tony smirked. Ziva had tail-gated them even beyond Gibbs' nerves before they'd pulled over for lunch. Her impatience had been palpable in the way she drove; it was obvious she'd been itching to pass Gibbs and drive in her usual reckless manner, but she'd held back admirably and followed their boss' lead as expected. Tony admired her restraint, but he was just glad Ziva had been the one ordered to drive their car while he rode with Gibbs. He wanted to keep an eye on the Boss.

Just as Gibbs fired the ignition his phone rang.

"Hey, Abs," Gibbs answered after a glance at the caller ID.

Tony couldn't guess at the topic of conversation from Gibbs' usual non-committal 'uh-huhs' and grunts, but the older man's face hardened at one point, taking on a determined set. When he terminated the call with a 'good work, Abs', he turned to Tony.

"Boss?" Tony questioned. "Abby give you a good lead?" It would be nice to have an actual trail to follow Probie's progress other than just the vague idea of where they thought he was going. Knowing the town that was his destination did help, though.

"Better," Gibbs answered. "Abby was able to retrieve the pre-paid phone number that Sara's phone had been texting and that it called right before the signal disappeared. Abby found McGee's current phone number."

Tony's mouth widened in a grin. That was great! A real break through.

Gibbs looked back at Tony a bit grimly, then dialed the number Abby must have given him over the phone. The fact that he'd remembered it without writing it down didn't impact Tony; his boss had an impeccable memory.

Tony waited expectantly as he listened hard and barely heard the tinny first ring on the other end of Gibbs' phone.

Now Probie could just tell them where he was and this little vacation would be over.

Tim motored down the highway in his 'borrowed' truck faster than the posted speed limits. But he no longer cared about things like that. He couldn't really afford the time- or the risk- of being pulled over, but some things took precedence over worrying about small issues like that, and his sister, his current mission, was one of those things. Tim wasn't worried because he felt capable of handling anything that came up. If he got pulled over, he'd deal with it in the most efficient way he could and get back on the road.

The truck was an old one, probably more for farm work than anything else. Tim didn't care, so long as it kept moving. He'd filled it up with gas, using the only method left to him for lack of money, but stealing the gas bothered only a small part of him the last few times it had been necessary. The old truck was a guzzler, and Tim had become inured to the guilt of that small offense; Sarah was more important that the cost of a few gallons of gas.

The windows were down because the air conditioning didn't work and the rush of wind filled Tim's ears and ruffled his hair, and he was continually jolted and rattled by the truck's less than stellar performance. It had nothing on his previous stolen car with the sweet engine.

Tim pushed the old truck to it's limit, not satisfied at it's limited speed but otherwise strangely blank, focusing only on his forward motion down the highway and his destination. Harlan, Kentucky.

Tim became aware of the beeping, almost inaudible under the rushing wind in the cab of the truck, but Tim had conditioned himself to listen for that sound. Sara was the only one with the number to this throw-away phone.

Tim's heart thudded in excitement and anxiety; he'd worried about Sara. He hated knowing she was taking such an obvious risk when she texted him, yet he knew that each new text meant she was still alive. And the clues didn't hurt, either.

Tim fumbled for the phone in his pocket, his fingers feeling thick and uncoordinated in his fatigue and recent lack of nourishment. Those were details he'd learned to push aside, though. Nothing mattered but his mission to save Sarah.

Tim pulled the phone out and glanced at it long enough to see that it wasn't an incoming text. It was an incoming call, one the phone recognized only as 'unknown' on the caller ID. His heart thudded harder; she was either taking a larger risk than usual or.......could she be free? Escaped, maybe?

Tim pushed the 'talk' button and held the phone to his ear.

"Sara," he greeted, his voice choked. Could it be over?

The voice that answered his greeting was not Sara.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything related.**

**A/N: Just to be clear: I don't live in Harlan, Kentucky, never have and probably never will. I know it's probably a much bigger place than I am describing in this chapter, and probably isn't a little hunting tourist community. I used Poetic License to make it fit what I need for the story, so my apologies to any who is from/lives in Harlan or anyone that knows differently.**

**As always, special thanks to those that take the time to review, and to those that 'Favorite' me and 'Alert' me!**

**And for those of you that get my updates in your email, sorry for the mixup, you'll have a few updates for this one chapter. I'm having issues!**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Tim pushed the 'talk' button and held the phone to his ear.

"Sara," he greeted, his voice choked. Could it be over?

The voice that answered his greeting was not Sara.

"McGee." The voice was gruff, the tone full of so many things.

Tim wasn't prepared; he'd expected to hear Sara's voice. He _needed_ it to be Sara's voice.

But it wasn't, and Tim's mind couldn't grasp, at first, who this foreign voice belonged to. Foreign, yet so familiar.

The voice had to speak a second time for Tim's mind to snap in understanding, and it wasn't the voice so much as the so-familiar impatient tone that Tim knew so well.

"McGee!"

This time Tim knew exactly who it was, but he still wasn't prepared. This voice didn't belong on the other end of this phone. This voice belonged to the one person that might be able to stop him from finishing his mission to rescue Sara.

And yet it was so good to hear him.

"Boss?" Tim rasped. It was a surreal feeling, to hear Gibbs' voice, and Tim wondered for a moment if his mind was doing that twisty thing on him again, where his reality was skewed. Gibbs didn't belong in this reality except as a vague threat far behind him.

"McGee! Talk to me," Gibbs demanded.

McGee's uncertainty fled in an instant. A well-spring of emotions flooded through him and he gasp-sobbed into the phone, just once before he regained control. The truck swerved under Tim's in-attention and Tim pulled sharply over and let the truck slide to a stop on the soft shoulder. He came to a jolting halt and killed the ignition.

"Boss, I......Boss?" Tim was at a loss. There were so many things to say, yet nothing he _could_ say. He instinctively looked around him warily, looking for anything out of place on the highway and all that surrounded it. Gibbs could be anywhere and if he was nearby, Tim was caught. Then he could forget rescuing his sister.

"Boss....." no, Tim reminded himself, not Boss. There was no way he was an agent anymore. Tim had to clamp down on the emotions that thought caused. He struggled to make his tone flat and emotionless. So different from the emotions bombarding him, but instinct told him that any weakness in his armor would be used against him. "Gibbs," he amended in the newly-flat voice. "Where are you?"

"Where are _you_, McGee?" Gibbs' voice was so strong with worry that McGee took a deep but silent breath to keep from reacting.

"I'm......" don't give details, New Tim reminded him from the depths of his mind. Gibbs is clever. _He'll stop you, you know he will._ "I'm going after Sara. To find Sara." _Stay factual, show no emotion._

"Yeah, McGee," Gibbs said, his tone softening to one that Tim had rarely ever heard from the man. Gentleness. Sympathy. "I know, Tim. I'll help you. We'll do it together. Just tell me where you are."

"I'm........." Tim wanted help. He wanted Gibbs right there as a sturdy support. Gibbs always knew what to do and Tim could follow his lead. He wanted to tell Gibbs.

But he knew he couldn't. New Tim was right about that, Tim knew. Gibbs would stop Tim, he wouldn't help him. If Gibbs caught up to him, he wouldn't let Tim continue his chase for Sara.

"I can't tell you, Gibbs," Tim said miserably.

"Tim, you sound like you want to," Gibbs said softly. "You trust me, don't you, McGee?"

"Yes, Bo.....Gibbs," Tim replied instantly, because he did. He always had.

"Then why won't you tell me where you are? Why won't you let me help you find Sara?"

"Because, Gibbs," Tim said in a new voice, New Tim's hardened tone. Gibbs was being clever, sneaky, and he couldn't allow that. It would be the end. New Tim was afraid of Gibbs, because he knew Gibbs could stop him if given half the chance. Old Tim wanted to find his sister, but he had too many morals, too much logic, to do it without help. New Tim was the one that understood that Sara was all that mattered, no matter the cost.

"Some things just have to be done alone," he explained flatly. "Don't call this phone again."

"McGee, wait," Gibbs ordered, a tone that even New Tim, that new hard part of Tim McGee, obeyed on instinct. Gibbs seemed to sense that Tim was about to terminate the call. He was right. But Tim hesitated and Gibbs spoke again in that moment.

"McGee......Tim. Just tell me this. Are you okay?"

A corner of Tim's mouth lifted at the question; it would have been a frightening smile if anyone were there to see it.

"No," New Tim answered. Or maybe it was Old Tim. It was hard to keep them separate now. "I don't think I am."

Tim pressed the 'end' button, cutting off the call. He started the truck and pulled onto the highway, ready to resume his mission once more. Every minute counted, and he'd wasted time.

As the truck gained speed he tossed the phone out the window, where it bounced and shattered along the asphalt.

Somehow he knew that Sara would not be texting the phone again.

Gibbs sighed as he heard the dead air of McGee's disconnected phone. Something was off with his agent. More than the fact that he was on a cross country jaunt in chase of bad guys. He'd sounded.......tortured. That was the only way Gibbs could describe it. And something about the quality of his voice was disturbing, especially there at the end.

Gibbs was almost afraid of what they'd find when they caught up to McGee.

Gibbs' phone rang and he answered it without looking to identify the caller. He'd expected the call.

"Hey, Abbs," he greeted, ignoring DiNozzo's inquiring look in the seat next to him. "Did you get it?"

"Sure did, Gibbs," Abby answered. "Highway seventy, twenty miles from the Kentucky border- first town- Harlan!"

"Good job, Abbs. Let me know if any more calls are made to or from that phone." He didn't wait for a reply before disconnecting, and Abby wouldn't have expected him to.

Gibbs glanced in the rear view mirror at the car waiting behind him with Ziva at the wheel, then over at DiNozzo in the passenger seat next to him. He ignored the two men in the backseat.

"Let's go get McGee," he said.

Gibbs set a record pace on Highway seventy that Ziva matched with enthusiasm. The prisoners in the back seat were forced to brace themselves as they stared wide eyed at the speed of the passing terrain.

McGee knew where they were. Where Sara was. It hadn't taken much. Harlan was not a large town, and it was primarily devoted to tourists visiting during hunting season in the thick woods surrounding the town. People were remembered, most of the lodgings in the town were known.

All it had taken was a bit of confidence from New Tim, talk of meeting his four friends that he'd lost track of.........flashing a picture or two.

The town's residents had given the information freely and cheerfully.

They'd stopped and stocked up on provisions, he'd found out. He'd been told that by the very clerk that had helped them. Tim asked a few basic questions but had forcibly refrained from breaking character, as hard as it had been. If he started asking after the welfare of one of his 'friends' it would be suspicious, and Tim didn't need that.

He'd found out they'd headed to what the store clerk had called 'the old Allen hunting cabin'. How he'd deduced that, Tim didn't know. And what's more, he didn't really care. Knowing where they were was enough for him. The clerk even gave him directions.

His first desire had been to rush out to the cabin's isolated, woodsy location and bust in, grab Sara, and run.

But that wasn't realistic, or rational. Tim had laughed to himself at the idea of any rational thought by that point, but he still knew it was a bad idea. Sara might not make it out alive if Tim wasn't careful.

They'd stocked up on supplies, so they obviously weren't going anywhere. That gave Tim time to prepare. Not that it would take so long.

He sat in the old truck across the street from the sporting goods and hunting supply store. He'd been in there earlier, asking after Sara and her captors, and he'd seen the array of weapons they had for sale. Weapons he would need.

Tim had wanted so badly to whip out his handgun and demand that the store clerk hand over what he wanted, but that would be too much attention on him, and he'd maybe never make it past the town's excuse for law enforcement in time to get to Sara.

So Tim sat, nothing else to do but wait until it was time. He would wait for the store to close, wait for the summer night to close in. Then he would break into the store and quickly gather the guns and ammo he might need.

Then he'd drive as close as he could to the cabin and hike out into the woods, following the vague directions he'd been given, and rescue Sara from the hunting cabin. No matter what it took. Quietly or in the midst of chaos, he didn't care. However it worked out, so long as he took Sara from those that had her.

He had no doubt that it would involve guns, though.

Tony lifted his head from against the car window and straightened his posture. Even in his sleep he'd detected a difference in the car's speed. He'd somehow become accustomed to Gibbs' method of driving enough to fall asleep, and he attributed it to his years of riding shotgun with his Boss. What had awakened him was the car slowing dramatically.

"We're there?" Tony asked, his voice hoarse from his uncomfortable sleep. He looked out at the passing scenery. A sparse little town set in the middle of woodland. They seemed to be in what passed for the center of town, with it's collection of small businesses, most closed for the night. The periodic streetlights sent dim pools of yellow light to the pavement at regular intervals. Other than that, the streets and the buildings were dark.

"Uh huh," Gibbs confirmed.

Tony stretched fully, his bones cracking, and glanced over at his boss. Gibbs looked tired, worn, and Tony felt a stab of guilt for having fallen asleep and left the other man behind the wheel. Not that he'd had a choice, however; Tony's suggestion to switch places for awhile had been met with a negative reaction and no amount of talking or attempts to convince had done any good. That was out of character for Gibbs and that made Tony worry more about him. Despite Gibbs' preference to be the usual driver, on over-long drives he had no problem sharing the responsibility; it behooved them to stay as rested as possible for the upcoming case-involved work when driving long distances to a crime-scene.

But Gibbs was different this time. He was driven, determined. That wasn't too unusual in it's own right, but Tony worried that Gibbs was running on empty. He had tunnel vision. This wasn't just a case, this was the recovery of one of his own men.

It was time for Tony to step up as Senior Field Agent, the Boss' second in command, and do the job that didn't necessarily fall into his job description but that he'd always taken on with the utmost importance.

Tony pulled his cell phone from it's holder and pushed number three on speed dial. The recipient picked up halfway into the first ring, and Tony glanced into the mirror on his side of the car to see the car behind following them closely. Ziva's dark silhouette moved slightly as the woman put her own phone to her ear as she answered the call.

"We're here," Tony said lightly.

"As I can see, Tony," Ziva returned immediately. Their banter took no concentration or thought, so second- nature it was to them. For half a second Tony expected the usual third part to their banter to resound from the backseat with McGee's amused but long-suffering attitude. Almost simultaneously, he remembered the reason they were there in the first place, with an anxious squeeze in his chest.

Back to the business at hand.

"Ziva," Tony let his voice adopt an edge of firmness that had been used only a handful of times since his own stint as Boss when Gibbs was in Mexico. "Find us a motel. No telling how long we'll be here and we could use the rest."

Ziva didn't protest the order. "Okay. And you?"

Tony looked over at Gibbs, who returned his agent's attention instead of watching the road. Tony stared firmly at his boss, almost daring him to protest. "Me and Gibbs are going to find the local LEOs and borrow their jail for our prisoners. Then we'll join you at the motel once you let us know where it is."

Ziva gave an affirmative answer into the phone before disconnected that Tony barely heard. He stoically met his boss' eyes with a determination that he wouldn't let go of.

Gibbs stared right back, but finally conceded to Tony with one curt nod, then returned his attention to the dark, empty street ahead of them.

Tony breathed a quiet sigh of relief that Gibbs wasn't going to make it hard on him, because Tony took that part of his job seriously. He wouldn't have backed down without a fight. He clipped his cell back onto his hip and didn't see the small smile Gibbs let slip as the older man scanned the buildings for the local jail.

Gibbs slowed the car to a rolling stop at a stop sign, and both men's attention was grabbed by the garishly flashing lights to the right of them and a couple building up on the intersecting street.

Two local police cruisers were parked directly in front of a business, their lights flashing and lighting up the dark street with the stark red of the flashing lights on top of both cars.

Gibbs and Tony looked at each other, then back at the scene.

"We found the LEOs," Tony understated.

"Yep," was all Gibbs said as he turned down that street and came to a stop behind the cruisers.

Three officers stood in a pool of light from one of the streetlights talking to a man that was obviously the unhappy proprietor of the business.

Tony looked up at the large sign above the business to see that it was sporting goods and hunting supply store. Probably one of the most prosperous businesses for such a town.

The door of the place was hanging crookedly from it's hinges, the window plating of the top half of the door shattered. The shards of glass glittered brightly on the concrete under the pulsing police strobe lights. An obvious break in.

Gibbs exited the car to approach the officers, a disturbing expression on his face. Tony glanced back at the drowsing prisoners in the back seat before following his Boss from the car.

Tony knew Gibbs had the same suspicion he did that McGee might be responsible for raising the town of Harlan's crime rate.

Time to see what Probie had been up to.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything related.**

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Tim huffed through the dark woods, his breath coming fast. Perspiration slicked his pale face. His new acquisitions hung heavy on his body. The butt of the rifle slung over his shoulder continuously banged his hip, but he made no effort to adjust it more comfortably. The duffel hanging from his back was heavy and cumbersome, but he didn't stop to rest.

Nor did he yet make an attempt to stay quiet. It was quite a hike from the road to the cabin and it would be a little while before he'd be near enough for noise to endanger him.

Tim's mind was focused solely on his forward progress. Only the flashlight in his shaky grip illuminated the obstacles of trees and bushes and stumps and rocks ahead of him. He paid no mind to anything in his way, simply pushing through however he could. If he couldn't go through, he'd go over or under or around, but it was all automatic.

His hands, arms and face sported new scratches and gouges with every step from the unforgiving branches and thorns, several of them bleeding. His clothes were becoming shredded, his shirt flapping and his pants displaying gaping tears, so he began collecting gouges on the other exposed areas of his body, too. The leaf dust and fine dirt coated his face and arms thinly with the help of the layer of sweat. Bits of debris tangled in his already wild hair and wasn't dislodged.

Tim's heart beat fast against his ribs and his breathing was labored. Not in anxiety or anticipation, because his only thought was his forward motion in the right direction. Nothing mattered beyond the next step, and the next and the next. It was because of the exertion. Tim's mindset didn't allow for pacing himself, or for stealth, as he'd been taught so long ago.

He was moving at a fast clip, an almost-jog, barely slowing even to push through the obstacles in his path. It was too fast for the darkness that the flashlight didn't quite relieve, and he stumbled and tripped often. He simply pushed himself up and continued on with no mind to his minor injuries. But mostly it was too fast for his level of exhaustion. He had nothing left, but his mind refused to allow that. He pushed on with no recognition that he shouldn't be able to.

Tim staggered through the woods, his body giving out but his mind driving him on.

Every now and then he glanced at the compass in his right hand and that was the only concession to conscious thought he made.

His heart pounded harder, trying to tell his body that the fatigue, exhaustion and lack of nourishment wouldn't be denied.

His breaths came faster, harder, shallower.

But he didn't have to think until he reached the cabin so he'd save his thoughts for keeping Sara alive.

And he pushed on.

* * *

The level of tension in the motel room was almost static.

Ziva sat on the edge of one of the beds and observed her two male counterparts. Tony's shoulders were tense, his jaw set in anger. He moved around curtly with short movements that spoke of his displeasure.

Gibbs' eyes were narrowed as he ignored his junior agent's attitude but the glare in his blue eyes was at it's personal best as he regarded his agents and their two prisoners. Like Tony, his body was stiff with tension.

"Ziva," Gibbs snapped, "reverse the cuffs on those two to get the blood flowing." He'd distinctly not addressed Tony, but she hadn't become a Mossad officer by being stupid. She said nothing as she quickly obeyed. She had no intentions of getting in the middle of their disagreement. Both were stubborn and hard headed and no good would come of being a part of it.

The prisoners- Leslie and Paul- both groaned in relief when Ziva released them each one at a time, allowed them to move and stretch for a few moments, then re cuffed them with their hands in front rather than behind them, as they'd been for several hours. Neither one was stupid enough to try anything with her watching closely and the two other agents in close proximity.

The little table in the room was bolted to the wall. She sat them in chairs opposite each other and she secured them each to one of the table legs, ensuring that they both stayed put.

Then she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms on her chest. She wanted to see which one of her two coworkers would break the silence first. It was no contest, really.

Gibbs had silence down to an art form.

Tony stepped into the tiny bathroom but left the door open. He ran the water in the sink and took a moment to splash his face. He patted dry with a hand towel hanging by the sink but abruptly tossed it to the counter instead of replacing it when he was finished.

Two steps was all it took to return to the main room and when he did, Tony dropped himself angrily down into the one remaining chair in the corner.

He glared at Gibbs, who glared right back.

As Ziva had predicted, Tony was the one that broke the silence.

"If it was one of us you'd smack us into next week," Tony said tightly. "Especially me."

"It's not one of you," Gibbs retorted in a steely voice.

"You'd never let one of us go into the field with nothing to run on, Boss."

Ziva agreed with Tony. She waited for Gibbs' response.

"I'm not empty yet, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled and notched up the glare. "And this isn't going into the field. We're going after one of our own."

"Yeah, we are," Tony agreed curtly. "But thanks to the sorry excuse for law enforcement here in Deliverance land, we're stuck with tweedle dumb and tweedle dee. Which means one of us has to stay here and watch them while the other two go after McGee. If it were anyone but you, you wouldn't send a halfway functioning agent into the field and leave a fresh one here. Not when you could send two fresh ones out."

Ziva tensed as Gibbs stepped forward and squared up with Tony. Tony stood up and met the challenge, the men standing almost nose to nose.

Only something this important would give Tony the bravery to withstand Gibbs' usual intimidation techniques.

"Since when do I need permission from one of my agents to do what I think needs to be done, DiNozzo?"

"Since you'd be a liability out there, Boss," Tony said softly but in all truthfulness. "You're _tired_. You've been going too long. You have two fresh agents here to do the job and we can do it because _you_ trained us. Don't waste one of us here watching these dipwads so you can go out. You have help now, Boss, and if you go out like you are you'll be a danger to yourself, to us and to McGee."

Gibbs said nothing, just glared at Tony. Tony withstood it without a word and barely a flinch.

_We're wasting time, _Ziva decided, and she knew that if Gibbs' concentrations hadn't been compromised, he'd have been the first to realize it and remedy it with a couple of snapped orders. She pushed herself from the wall and approached the two men, looking from one stubborn face to another.

"Tony is right, Gibbs," she said matter- of-factly. Both men looked at her, breaking the stare. "And we are wasting time," she added. "McGee is out there, and we will not catch up to him standing here arguing about it. We have to go before he does something stupid."

Tony and Ziva looked to Gibbs, awaiting his decision. Regardless of how either of them felt about it, or argued about it, it was ultimately Gibbs' decision.

Gibbs jaw clenched for a moment, then he relaxed and looked at his agents standing as a united front.

"Keep your weapons on you," he ordered in resignation. Tony and Ziva relaxed in realization that Gibbs was giving in and Tony grinned. "We're here to recover McGee and his sister, but prepared to protect yourselves just in case. If he's already at the cabin or he's been made by the suspects, retreat back here unless there is simply no possibility of doing so. Do. Not. Engage. Understand?"

"Yes, Boss," Tony said immediately, reaffirming his place as Gibbs' junior agent.

"Yes, Gibbs," Ziva agreed.

"If one of you comes back here injured I'll put my foot so far up your......"

"Got it, Boss," Tony said quickly to dispel the threat.

Ziva just nodded.

They got the point.

"I don't like this," Ziva said to Tony as the two of them hiked through the woods following their flashlight beams. "To go on a search through an unknown environment in the dark.......it's foolish."

Tony agreed, but he couldn't let Ziva know that. "What do you want us to do, Zee-vah?" he asked sarcastically. "Gibbs was right when he said this isn't just a case. We're here to recover McGee and Sara. We're on our own here, we're not exactly going by the book, in case you haven't noticed. And we have to get McGee before we can worry about Sara."

"I know that, Tony. It's not that I don't want to find McGee, but.......do you think Gibbs was right in his decision not to gain the help of the officers here? We don't exactly have backup waiting for us to call in this time, Tony. We might need them."

"What's the matter? You afraid we can't handle it ourselves?" When Ziva didn't bother to retort, Tony lost his joking manner and spoke seriously. "All right, Ziva. I get what you're saying. And maybe we'll recruit the LEOs when it's time to go back in for Sara. But right now Gibbs is still trying to protect McGee, and McGee's job, at least until he sees what's what. A bit of damage control, you know? And besides that, if McGee was the one that broke into that sporting goods store and snatched all those weapons- and we all know he is- then the local cops would be obligated to lock him up. But I can read Gibbs, and he's worried. He wants to see McGee for himself, and keep him close. And I do, too."

"As do I. But it is still a foolish mission."

"Not too bad," Tony assured her. "We know we're heading in the same direction as McGee because we know where he's going, and thanks to the ever helpful Sheriff, we even have the general directions. We're not really looking for him so much as hoping to catch up to him before he does something stupid. And if they're holed up in the cabin, it's not likely we'll run into unfriendlies."

"No," Ziva agreed. "Just McGee."

Tony shot a sharp glance at her in the darkness in response to her indecipherable tone, but she didn't clarify and he didn't ask.

There it was. The cabin. It wasn't huge, just a moderate-sized wooden structure fitting in well with it's woodsy surrounding.

Lights glowed from the curtained windows but it was quiet. Occasionally a shadow moved in front of one of the illuminated windows but the forms were just silhouettes, nothing definite enough to make out to whom the shadows belonged.

Tim knew he was in the right place. According to the people he'd talked to, this was the only hunting cabin in that particular area. Apparently, the owner liked the space and the solitude when he had a hunting weekend.

Tim crouched down several yards away from the cabin and lowered his rifle and weapons bag to the leafy ground. His breathing was still rough but finally slowing in the time he'd stood and examined the structure. He'd extinguished his flashlight and used the darkness and the plant life to conceal himself as he watched, but there wasn't much chance of anyone seeing him, he knew. It was too dark out there in the woods. The moon reached down through the trees in only a few areas and they were easy to avoid.

It was time to think, to get his brain in gear. Time to rely on his training as much as he could. He wasn't used to one-man operations, so he'd have to make a few adjustments. And be careful. If he got himself killed right off, that wouldn't be any help to Sara.

Tim opened the duffel and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for, then loaded the rifle with the shells he'd pulled out. Then he did the same for his handgun; he was glad he'd had the foresight to grab extra shells for it, as well as a holster. It wasn't conceivable that he'd be successful in keeping the gun in place tucked into his loose pants, not if he had to move quickly.

The next item was a large hunting knife, similar to the one he'd removed from one of the goons earlier that day and tossed into the water. It came complete with a clip on sheath and Tim clipped it next to the holstered gun. Then he reached down and tapped his ankle to feel the reassuring presence of his own knife, the one Gibbs had given him, the one he'd recovered from Jeff's shoulder.

Tim pulled his tired body to a standing position and practiced reaching for the gun and the knife at his hip to make sure both were positioned where he could reach them when he needed them. He had to re-position the hunting knife a little, but then it was perfect.

Next he removed each of the several other weapons from the duffel and loaded the five guns. Then, arms full of weapons, Tim took a half hour to walk slowly and quietly around the cabin, staying far under the dark trees. At random intervals Tim stashed either a loaded gun or large knife. At each place, Tim left a sign that would be obvious to him that it hid a weapon, but that was just for insurance. He made a point to memorize as well as he could, even in the darkness, each place and it's nearest landmarks.

Then he took another hour to do the same thing again, only off into the woods in several directions away from the cabin.

He wanted to be prepared for anything.

Now for the strategic planning.

Tim approached the cabin warily, silently, from shadow to shadow. He crept around the perimeter, staying flat against the wall. He peered into windows and carefully tried both doors, one at the front and one at the back.

The people inside were being either careful or paranoid. The curtains were all thick and covered the windows entirely. Tim could see nothing through them or around them.

The doors seemed to be well secured, as well as he could tell while being careful and quiet.

He'd learned nothing with reconnaissance He had no idea of their weaponry or state of readiness. He'd gotten no glimpse of Sara.

Breathing heavily again from his weapons stashing foray and attempts at peeping, Tim returned to his original hidden spot and settled in for a wait.

He knew this was the hardest part, the waiting, but rushing things could lead to disaster. Tim took up the rifle in his shaky arms and watched the cabin. If he had a chance to take one of them out before he went in, then he would. All he needed was for one of them to step outside. Until then, he would bide his time. But not too long. He didn't know if they were waiting for reinforcements. Ideally, he planned to wait until the lights went out. He wanted to go in quietly, find Sara, and get out.

But if the lights continued burning into the night, he'd go in blazing, if he had to. He'd take out all three of Sara's captors, if needed. And any others, if they were waiting for friends.

But no matter what, he was leaving with Sara.

Tim was only slightly disturbed that the thought of possibly expiring the lives of Sara's captors gave him a sense of satisfaction.

Gibbs paced the room. He hated this. _Hated_ it.

He wasn't normally a pacer, but neither was he normally the one left behind. He cursed himself for allowing DiNozzo to back him into the corner, for calling him out. But even as he inwardly cursed himself, he was inwardly praising his senior agent. DiNozzo had been right, of course. But that didn't make it easier for Gibbs to bear. And it took balls for DiNozzo to stand up to him that way.

Gibbs had questioned his own ability to go after McGee; he recognized that he'd worn himself down beyond effectiveness. But until DiNozzo had pushed the issue, Gibbs hadn't even considered being the one left behind to wait, unknowing. Wait for them to come back safe. To have McGee with them, or not to. Or not come back at all, if things went badly.

And besides that, this had been Gibbs' mission for the past several days. Over a week he'd tracked and chased McGee across the state and further, worrying about him one minute and wanting to get his hands on him the next. It was hard to step back during what might be the penultimate moment. The capture of his prey, so to speak.

Damn DiNozzo. And thank God he knew what Gibbs needed, and when to push it.

He'd also questioned his own decision not to bring other law enforcement into it yet, but his gut was telling him it would be best to wait. He wanted to assess McGee first, himself.

Gibbs paced back to the window once again, taking a moment to peer out through the curtain. He wanted to call one of them for an update, but by now they'd be well into the woods and on McGee's trail. Maybe near the cabin. A ringing cell phone could give them a way at the worst possible time.

The two men handcuffed to the table watched Gibbs' progress back and forth but he'd ignored them successfully.

Until the dark haired one, Paul, spoke.

"Hey, uh.....you gonna find a place to put us soon?"

Gibbs just glanced at him but didn't bother to answer.

"Yeah," the other man, Leslie, said. "Who ever heard of a police station without a jail?"

Gibbs grimaced with a bit of irritation. That tidbit of information had been unhappily met by the team.

It wasn't so much that the town didn't have a jail. It was simply that the two jail cells the small station _did_ have were unusable at the present time. One being used for storage or some such thing, and the other in the process of being repaired after plaster had fallen from the ceiling months ago. Apparently, the general lack of local crime had made the town complacent and the repairs were not being handled in any kind of urgent fashion.

"So you're bringing that other agent back here, right? That McGee?" Paul pressed.

Gibbs responded to the man's anxious tone by looking over at him.

Seeing he had Gibbs' attention, Paul clarified. "It's just, uh.....well, we're cuffed here, you know? And when he left us in the woods, he said if he saw us again he'd kill us. We're you're responsibility here, you know. We can't defend ourselves cuffed like this."

Gibbs just smirked. McGee had definitely made an impression on those two.

Tony held a finger to his lips in the universal 'shh', then pointed to a spot a little ahead of them.

Ziva's eyes followed his finger and spied their target, crouched in the bushes, his back to them. The shirt was in tatters and flapped in the occasional breeze. He stared intently at the silent cabin, a rifle in his hands.

Ziva couldn't see him too well in the darkness or from her position, but there was something about the his tense crouch, the set of his shoulders, that screamed 'be careful'.

Tony must have seen the same thing, because he signaled her to go around while he approached from the front.

It didn't feel right to be circling behind McGee as if her were a dangerous suspect. But it felt necessary.

Tim's tense body was shaking with fatigue, but he pushed it down and held position. He wasn't thinking clearly, he knew that in some deep part of him, but he pushed that away, too. He held his crouched position with no real reason to need to, and he held the rifle straight at the cabin as if he had a target in his sights.

The waiting was getting harder. He wanted to go in, now. But he had to think of Sara. Sara first. Bide his time and go in when it was dark and quiet, unsuspecting. Through a window, if he had to, though that might not be so quiet if he had to bust it. It would ruin the element of surprise, too.

The dark spots that had begun to make an appearances in the corners of his vision were getting stronger, closer, more frequent. His head was getting lighter by the minutes, buzzier with fatigue. The occasional faint feeling. Tim's body was betraying him and he knew it. He not-so-grudgingly realized that he might have to go for broke and go in before he'd planned. He might not be last if he waited too long. Or he might not be of use to Sara if he went in in too bad a shape to accomplish his goal.

He refused to acknowledge that he might very well already be at that point.

A noise to his left drew his attention and he tensed further but didn't whirl around. He moved his head slowly to scan the area the noise had come from.

Nothing at first, then the crack of a twig, the crunch of leafy ground. A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness.

So. Sara's kidnappers did have reinforcements. His heart sped up, his adrenaline rushed.

Tim whirled, keeping his one- knee stance, and trained the rifle on the shadow that was becoming bigger.

The shadow that was taking on a familiar shape, a well known demeanor.

"Whoa, there, Probie," the shadow said. "Take it easy. It's just me."

"Tony?" Tim asked incredulously. His mind couldn't place Tony in his current surroundings. He didn't belong.

"_Yeah_, me. Who else?" Tony was moving slowly, hands held peaceably before him. Tim realized he still had Tony in his sights and lowered the rifle.

He glanced back at the cabin to insure that there had been no change, then back at Tony. "What are you doing here?" Tim asked. "And where are the others?" He looked around cautiously, awaiting an ambush from his team.

"I'm here to help you, Probie. We know what's going on. We want to help you get Sara back. But not yet. Not right now. First you need to come with me."

"Where are the others?" Tim repeated insistently. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Take it easy. It's just me, McGee. Gibbs isn't here."

Half of Tim's mind registered that Tony was speaking to him as he would an irrational victim. Or suspect. And that it didn't sound right that Gibbs wouldn't have come with Tony. Or Ziva either, for that matter.

Then other half, the half that had been growing stronger, only knew that Tony wanted to stop his mission. He _said_ he wanted to help him get Sara back, but in the same breath said that he had to leave.

No. He wasn't leaving, and he didn't need help. This was something that he now knew he had to do alone. Sara was _his_ sister, and this was _his_ mission. He couldn't let them stop him. If he did, he'd lose Sara for good.

_The team's found you, _Old Tim was trying to rationalize. _It's over. They'll help. You can't do it alone and now they're here._

New Tim pushed that plea to the back of his mind and raised the rifle, aimed at Tony.

"Whoa, there, McGee. What are you doing? Take it easy."

"Just leave, Tony. Please. Just leave. I don't want to do anything drastic but I will. I can't let you stop me. I can't let _Gibbs_ stop me, and he will if I go with you. We both know it."

"Tim, he's worried about you. We're worried about you. We don't want to stop you, I swear. We want to help you. We're here for you and for Sara. You'd know that if you were rational."

"Leave Tony. I'm not going with you. Don't make me do something neither of us want."

Tim's finger tightened on the trigger and his vision narrowed to just the shadow of Tony there before him. He didn't want to do it, but New Tim couldn't let anyone stop him. Anyone.

Tim gasped as an arm snaked around his neck and pulled him against a warm body behind him. A hand seized the rifle, pulled it from his grasp and tossed it aside. It took only seconds, and the arm held him immobile for the crucial moment needed. He had no time to struggle or to use his own training against the woman that had superior fighting skills.

A hand settled on his left shoulder.

"Sorry, McGee," he heard whispered into his ear.

The grip on his shoulder shifted up to the hollow between his shoulder and his neck, then tightened in a quick painful pinch that caused the darkness to descend rapidly as he lost consciousness.

Tony took a deep breath in relief at what it seemed they'd avoided when McGee slumped from his kneeling position to the ground as Ziva struggled to lower him gently.

He tried to keep in mind that the Tim McGee he knew would never have held him at gunpoint, never would have hurt him.

_McGee's just out of it right now, _he kept reminding himself.

He looked at the fallen McGee, then at Ziva. She didn't seem happy at what she'd had to do, but he knew she'd done the right thing. He hoped she knew it, too.

"Great," Tony groused in a show of lightheartedness. "Now we have to carry him."

Several minutes later, as Tony and Ziva finally agreed on the best method of transport for their unconscious friend and started on the long trek back, the area of woods around the cabin became silent and empty once more of anything but the wind and the wildlife.

The four occupants of the cabin never knew of the silent surveillance Tim had kept, or of the mild take-down that had happened right outside of the cabin's clearing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything related to it.**

**A/N: Thank you all so very much for all the wonderful reviews, alerts and 'favorite authors'! And welcome to a few new readers that have made themselves known!**

**Oh, and Reagan.......the explanation will be in the _next_ chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"God, what did he do to himself?" Tony asked quietly next to Ziva.

She just shook her head as she looked at the pitiful figure on the bed.

Next to her, in a chair and staring at the unconscious McGee just as Tony and Ziva were, Gibbs answered. "He just ran himself down, DiNozzo. He let everything take him over. I've seen it before. It happens to the best of us."

"But...._this_?" Tony waved a hand toward the bed. "I mean....._how_? It's only been barely over a week."

"Apparently that is all it takes," Ziva replied softly.

The three agents seemed at a loss now that they had McGee in their custody. It wasn't as if there wasn't anything more for them to do, because they still had Sara to recover. But that would require planning and maybe a bit of reconnaissance, which would come soon, but not yet. And until then, they'd suddenly found that all their rushing and intensity had calmed. The adrenaline was fading. They had McGee now, which had been their main purpose for the past week and couple days.

The three of them found themselves simply sitting and watching McGee lie in the bed, unconscious and unaware.

_And a pitiful sight he is_, Ziva thought. Gibbs had already threatened that the first one of them to send a picture of him to Abby in his current state would regret it deeply, no matter how much Abby begged for one to see for himself that McGee was okay.

The only word to describe McGee was gaunt. It awed Ziva that a man could become that way in a week or less, but apparently he'd been so driven that he simply hadn't taken care of himself properly. That, combined with his constant flight, had not done him any good at all.

McGee's cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed with dark circles underneath. Even his closed eyelids looked darkened, unhealthy. His face sported a several days growth of hair a shade darker than that on his head. The fresh and older healing bruises and abrasions didn't improve his appearance at all and the bright scratches from the woods gave him an almost frightening appearance.

His hair was sticking up at odd angles, stiff with dirt, sweat and grime days old. Debris clotted it into tangles. Ziva wondered if he'd be able to fix it without a pair of scissors.

His clothing was no better. His thin shirt was nothing more than hanging strips of material held together by the shirt collar. That allowed them to see the deep bruising that colored his stomach, chest and sides. No doubt many of them had been administered by the two men still handcuffed to the table. More bright red scratches and gouges lined his stomach and sides.

His pants were plagued with tears large and small. They were so dirty they were stiff in places, dirt and grime ground in as dark stains.

McGee's shoes and clothing left the bedding he was lying on dirty, clumps of dirt falling from his shoes and pants and hair, the random leaf or small twig.

Tim McGee was a sorry sight to see and it wasn't easy for his friends to see him like that.

"He's waking up," Ziva observed as the prone figure on the bed began to stir.

"It's about time, Ziva," Tony quipped as the trio watched the bed intently. "I was starting to wonder if you'd killed him."

He was rewarded by a sharp smack to the back of his head.

"Thanks, Boss," Tony responded sheepishly, the admonishment, as always, understood.

The first thing Tim became aware of as he began to come to was not any outside influence. Rather, it was his own body.

His whole body was in pain in varying degrees. No one thing was unbearable, but all the smaller and moderate grievances worked together to make Tim a very unhappy person upon awakening.

Stiffness was the next thing he recognized. Tim's joints and muscles rebelled the smallest movement, and he couldn't suppress a groan of pain when he turned his head.

Exhaustion pervaded him though he'd just opened his eyes, and when he slowly and awkwardly pushed himself to a sitting position, his body was impossibly heavy.

He felt a strong desire to simply curl up and sleep, but something in the back of his mind wouldn't let him relax. There was something he was supposed to be doing, some driving need he was supposed to be meeting, but exactly what it was evaded his wool-stuffed mind at the the moment.

Tim couldn't figure out where he was or what had happened, but it didn't take long to figure out _how_ it had happened when his bleary eyes finally came to rest on the five people watching him closely. He felt no surprise to see them, however; he'd known, deep down, that they would catch up to him eventually.

Strangely, however, what fueled his next emotion was not brought out by the sight of his three colleagues- _former colleagues, _he reminded himself- but by the two large men sitting at the small table behind his his friends, against the wall.

Rage welled up inside and in one move that belied his physical condition to those watching, Tim simultaneously reached down and pulled his knife from his ankle and pushed himself to his feet from what he vaguely realized was a bed he'd been laid out on.

The aggressive move prompted a flurry of quick but mostly controlled activity from the others in the room.

The men at the table pulled against their cuffs as Tim advanced two steps toward them, and one of them might have given a panicked screech, though neither would admit to it later.

But Tim didn't get further than those two steps because the other three agents had jumped to their feet, and it took Gibbs only seconds to grab Tim's knife hand, relieve him of his weapon, and hold him in place.

Tim was breathing heavily from the exertion on his run down body and the strong, unexplainable anger that had surged through him at the sight of Mutt and Jeff, but the second Gibbs relieved him of his weapon, all the fight went out of him.

Gibbs' tight hold on Tim reversed from holding him back to holding him up as Tim sagged with the lack of adrenaline. Tim shuffled around, following Gibbs' lead as the older man shifted Tim back to the bed and lowered him down to sit on it.

Gibbs stood but kept a hand on Tim's shoulder.

Looking over his own shoulder, Gibbs said, "Ziva, go to the check in office and get the room next to us. The one with the connecting door." He gestured at the door in the wall on the other side of the room. "If that room's already occupied, insist. But no violence. Use your badge."

Ziva nodded and left the room quickly.

"Tony," Gibbs continued. "Go out to the car and bring in the duffel from the trunk-" Gibbs tossed the other agent the keys to his car "- then go find us all some dinner."

"Got it, Boss," Tony said, his reluctance to leave the room showing on his face but not in his words.

"Dinner for _all _of us, DiNozzo," Gibbs called after the exiting man. "They need to eat, too," he reminded him with a wave at the prisoners.

Tim gave a wry snort. It would be just like DiNozzo to conveniently 'forget' to bring food for the two thugs.

"What are they doing here, Gibbs?" Tim asked.

"They're under arrest."

"In a motel room?" It had become quickly obvious to Tim that that was indeed where they were. No matter how different they might be cosmetically, all motel rooms were just alike. There was no mistaking it.

"Yeah, well. The jail's not available." He squatted down to peer into Tim's face. "How you doin', McGee?"

That question, those words- the same ones Gibbs had asked over the phone when Tim was in the truck, snapped in Tim's mind and the whole situation, the past week, rushed back into his memory. Infused once again with urgency, Tim's mind dealt with his pain and exhaustion the same way he had been for days......he pushed it aside.

His body stiffened in determination.

Gibbs saw the change in Tim's demeanor and sat back on his heels. "McGee?"

Neither of the men reacted when the motel room door opened and Tony deposited a familiar duffel bag on the floor and left again.

"Do you know what the hell you guys did?" Tim asked coldly. "I was _this_ close to getting Sara back until you guys rushed in and interfered. You ruined everything!"

Tim rose to his feet in anger and began to pace the room furiously while Gibbs and Mutt and Jeff watched.

"Now my sister is still with those bastards going through God knows what, and I'm here in rattrap motel. It'll be dawn soon......my plan depended on it being dark, the element of surprise. Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Tim whirled and gave the duffel bag a might kick that sent it across the floor, then he leaned against the door, tired all over again.

_What the hell is the matter with me? _ He thought as he tried to slow breathing that had become labored once again. His physical condition had long since ceased to be one of his concerns, therefore his quick deterioration from his recent lack of self-care was not in the realm of his reality. It made no impact on his consciousness except confusion when he couldn't deny the effect on his body.

"This guy's gone round the bend", one of the men at the table muttered.

Tim glared at both men. He debated on whether to take the time to decide which of them had made the comment or to just pop both of them, but before the thought fully formed Gibbs spoke, pulling his attention from the two thugs.

"Are you finished?" Tim's former boss asked.

"No," Tim snapped in a way he never would have dared any other time. "You guys have no place here. I started out after Sara on my own to keep you people safe, but you followed me anyway. So that's on you. But Sara's the one that matters now and I'm going after her. Just go home, Gibbs. Or stay. Whatever. But I'm going for Sara."

Tim pushed himself from the door, whirled around and pulled it open. Behind him, Gibbs strode forward to stop him from leaving. Instead of stopping him, however, Gibbs caught the other man as Tim stumbled dizzily and his knees gave out.

For the second time, Tim allowed Gibbs to shuffle him over to the bed and sit him down.

"McGee, how you think you're gonna rescue Sara in your condition? We're here to help now, but I'm not letting you go out there alone."

"I can't leave her with those people, Gibbs," Tim insisted, but his firm words belied the sudden despair that welled up inside. He could feel himself giving in to his body's demands. How could he get to his sister if he couldn't even manage to get himself going?

It was their fault. All of them. He'd have had Sara by now if they hadn't interfered. If they hadn't stopped him. His friends, his former colleagues and boss, had betrayed him. They'd jumped him in the darkness, knocked him out and dragged him away from his rescue mission. He'd have had Sara by now, she'd be free. With or without Tim, depending on the outcome of the inevitable fire fight, but she would be safely away from her captors and on her way home. But they'd stopped him, just like he knew they would if they'd caught up to him.

He didn't have much time. It wasn't long before dawn, and he couldn't stand the thought of being so close, yet leaving Sara with them for one more day. And besides that, Tim's body was coming very close to shutting down, he could feel it. He had to do it now before he was useless.

Tim gathered himself. He took a deep, calming breath. He looked up at Gibbs.

"Okay, Gibbs. Okay. You're right. I know I'm going off half-cocked, but she's my sister. But......I guess I do need your help, Gibbs."

Gibbs frowned down at Tim, though Tim wasn't sure what had prompted it. But Gibbs just nodded his head and said, "I"m glad you see that, McGee. This isn't a one man mission. We'll save Sara, but we'll do it together. I'm not about to let you run off and get yourself killed. That wouldn't be helping you or Sara."

Tim bit back the words he wanted to say, the caustic remarks that Gibbs was not his boss anymore, that they'd betrayed him, that Sara was his sister and his mission and they couldn't help. Instead of saying the things that tried to push themselves from his mouth, New Tim let his face slip into a relieved and resigned expression, added a confident smile, and said, "Got it, Gibbs. I guess.....I guess there's nothing much for me to do right now but try to get some rest. I'm pretty tired."

"You're more than tired, McGee," Gibbs groused.

"Yeah," New Tim slipped in a sheepish chuckle. "I think I'll freshen up a bit before I lay down, Gibbs."

Gibbs stepped back and peered down at McGee. "Yeah. You do that, McGee."

Tim stood and stepped past Gibbs, shooting the other man a quick smile. He fetched the duffel he'd kicked across the room- which did indeed prove to be his own, the one he'd had in his own car before he'd lost it to Gibbs- and he retreated into the bathroom with the bag. He closed and locked the door behind him.

Tim dropped the bag to the floor and glanced around the room.

Good. The window was plenty big enough, not a tiny thing like some crappy motel rooms had in their bathrooms. Tim was relieved; he was determined to get out and back to his mission in any way he could, but he'd been counting on being able to slip out the window. He'd been at a loss as to what he'd do if the window was inaccessible or too small. It would have wasted time for him to come up with another way out while in Gibbs' company.

Tim didn't bother to even change into fresh clothes. He reached over and slid the window up, wincing at the squeak and the effort it took, then he stepped onto the toilet seat, threw a leg over the window sill, and pushed the rest of his body out into the dark. His ribboned shirt flapped as he fell, landing hard on the ground, his stain-stiffened jeans picked up more grime, but it didn't matter. He was out, and back on his way.

It took effort to stand. His heart beating hard at the effort, his breathing coming hard at what should have been a small exertion. One hand stung badly and the weak light from the bathroom window revealed a gash on his palm with the piece of broken glass still embedded in it. Tim plucked it out, ignoring the flow of blood, and dropped the glass back to the ground of the dirty alley behind the motel.

Tim glanced one way and then the other, chose a direction and took a step forward.

Someone grabbed him from behind, whirled him around and pushed him up against the dirty brick wall and pulled an arm up behind him.

"Shit!" Tim hissed as he was held tightly against the wall, his head spinning from the quick movement that had been forced upon him. "Let me go," he ground out angrily.

"Don't think so," a voice said in his ear as the person held Tim's tired body immobile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, the characters, or anything related.**

**A/N: Um...okay. Yes, I'm still alive, and in what seems to have become my usual author's note- so sorry for the delay, everyone. I hope a few of you are still with me. Also, already working on the next chapter.**

Tony pulled into the parking space he'd left less than an hour ago and killed the engine. He scrunched down and peered out of the windshield, catching sight of something where it didn't belong. Or someone, rather. There was a shadowed figure next to the door, leaning against the wall.

There was an instant of adrenaline and a move for his gun before Tony recognized the figure.

Ziva.

What the heck was she doing skulking outside the room?

Tony gathered the three fast food bags and the two cardboard cup carriers, then balanced the load precariously as he scooted from the car, shut the door with his hip, and approached his team mate. He deliberately made the load in his hands seem more unbalanced than it was as a hint to Ziva that he could use her help, but she ignored his efforts.

He sighed. "What are you doing out here in the shadows?"

"Gibbs sent me on an errand," she said and held aloft a plastic bag from a convenience store that Tony knew was still open a couple blocks from the motel. "And waiting for you."

Tony halted before opening the motel room door. Ziva's voice hadn't been a whisper, but she'd pitched her tone low in an obvious attempt to not broadcast her words. And just the fact that she'd stood around outside waiting for him was strange enough.

"Okaaaayyy..." Tony drawled the word out and giving her a corner-eyed look. She took the hint.

"Don't look at me like that," she said lightly. "I just thought I would be nice enough to warn you. Beware of Gibbs. He is quite unhappy."

"What happened?" Tony asked quickly, wondering if one of the prisoners had somehow disappeared or something. He squelched down his desire to head straight back to the car and find another motel. For Ziva to feel the need to warn him of a Gibbs-mood, it had to be bad. And he wondered how much of her hanging around outside had to do with the fact that she hadn't wanted to brave Gibbs without him. In one way, Tony giggled inside at the thought of the bad-ass Ninja woman on the team being afraid of their Boss' bad mood. But the rest of him cringed, knowing that Ziva's reluctance was a huge hint, and that some of Gibbs' worst moods were best avoided by all.

"McGee tried to run," Ziva explained succintly. "Gibbs was ready for him, though."  
"Ouch," Tony grimaced in sympathy for McGee. But he felt a little worm of unease. That wasn't their McGee, not something he would do at all. Where had he planned on running _to_? He was reunited with the team; not only did he have their help now, but he could be relieved that they were obviously safe from the hits that had been put out on them just about a week ago.

"Yes," Ziva agreed. "He was not happy. I was just returning from acquiring the connecting room to ours when he came from around the back of the motel with McGee. It was then that he sent me out for this-" she rattled the plastic bag- "but I think it was more so they could be alone than because he really needed anything. Gibbs was...unhappy...when he sent me away. It did not take me long and when I returned, I decided best to give them a little more time. And to warn you ahead of time."

Tony grinned at her slightly defensive demeanor. This could be good ammunition for a long while, if used correctly. "And you were maybe afraid to go in there alone?" Tony asked with eager humor.

Ziva straightened up with dignity and refused to answer the question. It didn't matter to Tony, he knew. "Shall we?" she asked.

He shrugged. It wasn't like they had a choice. And misery loved company, or so he'd heard, so it was just as well they were doing it together. When broaching a Gibbs-mood, sometimes there was safety in numbers.

Tony turned the knob and opened the door, and both agents stepped into the room. Ziva pushed the door closed behind her.

The first thing Tony noticed was that the two thugs had been removed from where they'd been cuffed at the table. The connecting doors to the next door room was open wide and Tony assumed the two men had been moved into the other room, though he couldn't see them from where he stood. The fact that Gibbs had placed a chair in the doorway of the connecting room and was seated so that he had a full vantage point of both rooms left no doubt as to the other mens' whereabouts.

The next thing Tony noticed-after a rustled movement from one of the two small beds in the room... _McGee's_ bed...drew his attention- was that Tim was wide awake, still in the filthy and ragged state he'd been in before, and not happy. He was glaring with burning intensity directly at Gibbs, and probably had been for awhile. McGee's eyes looked slightly feverish, but Tony thought that could just be the anger. But still, something in McGee's eyes were just not quite right. Something as definitely different about their probie, and whatever it was disturbed Tony greatly.

Gibbs sat in his chair, a newspaper unfolded and held up before him, and he read on as he ignored McGee's glare. That was a novelty in itself, that Gibbs was refusing to respond to the obvious insubordination and bad attitude. Almost as unusual as the fact that the attitude was coming from McGee, of all people.

The third thing Tony suddenly noticed, with a drop of his jaw...

"Whoa," he muttered with a quick glance at Ziva, who's own eyes were wide-

…...was that McGee was handcuffed to the old-fashioned metal railing of the bed by one wrist.

"Remind me to be more careful about pissing off the Boss," Tony muttered, half to himself and half to Ziva.

Ziva just nodded.

"Did you bring the food?" Gibbs asked from his chair, eyes still on the news paper.

"Yes, Boss," Tony said quickly, tearing his eyes from McGee. He turned to the small table and set down his load of their take-out dinner, but he couldn't keep his eyes from shifting over to McGee a time or two, or over to Gibbs, who had been the one to put their team mate in his own brand of lock down.

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked next.

Ziva held up her bag as she had outside and shook it. "Yes, Gibbs. Got it."

"Good." The news paper rattled as Gibbs folded it neatly, then stood and joined Tony at the table where he was sorting the food items. "Tony, you're on duty to watch the morons. They're in the other room. They're secured but I don't want your eyes off them."

"Got it, Boss."

"And feed them."

"Right." Tony gathered the take out burritos and tacos meant for himself and the two prisoners, as well as three of the soft drinks in paper cups, and headed to the other room. He did not sit in the doorways as Gibbs had, as he didn't need to see both rooms. Instead, he fully entered the other room- leaving the doors open- turned on the TV with one hand as he passed, and set his own food on the table.

He was not surprised to see the two prisoners in the same position as McGee. A little close in the same double bed, both were sitting up against the head railing and were handcuffed by one wrist to the iron bed posts, but it could have been worse for them.

Tony wondered what Gibbs would have done if the motel hadn't been so unique as to have old beds with iron-railed head and foot posts. It was obvious the small town business was attempting to give the rooms a homey and unique feel by differing from the chain franchises that favored wooden head boards attached to the wall, or something similar. Either that, or they'd just chosen not to shell out the cost for more modern styles in a very long time.

Tony decided it was probably a good thing for Dumb and Dumber that Gibbs hadn't had to get creative; they might have been forced to sleep on the floor attached to the leg of the bed, or possibly somewhere even more uncomfortable.

"Here you go, boys," Tony said smugly. "Chow time."

He set the food for each of them atop in their laps. They'd both have to eat with one hand, though, being restrained as they were.

"Don't think you're getting moved if you spill those drinks," Tony said cockily. "So I'd be careful." He gave them a smirk at their predicaments, but points went to each of the other men for ignoring him.

Tony scooted a chair to the middle of the room, sat in it and propped his feet up on the end of the nearest bed, set his food in his lap, and began surfing the channels with the remote. The second bed wasn't for him; he wasn't meant to sleep. But one of the others would join him in the room soon, he knew. Otherwise, Gibbs would have given each of the prisoners their own bed rather than making them share to leave one free.

He also knew that he'd be relieved from babysitting eventually, probably by Ziva. Until then, he'd keep himself occupied.

_Well, it's not pizza_, Tony thought as he took his first big bite. _ But not too bad at all. Ooh! I love this movie! _

Tony made himself comfortable, half of his attention on the movie he'd found, the other half on Lester and Paul.

"You are okay?" Ziva asked Gibbs as she handed him the small bag containing the items he'd sent her for.

"I'm fine," he said as he took the bag from her.

"But..." she gestured at the bag.

"It's not for me." His eyes flickered over to McGee, and hers followed.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows raised in surprised realization.

His back toward the room and blocking most of McGee's view, Gibbs moved up close to the table.

"Glad it's burritos," Gibbs said as an aside to Ziva. "Makes it easier."

He unwrapped one of the burritos and took the top off of one of the soft drinks.

Then he reached into the plastic bag he'd taken from Ziva and retrieved the two items within and opened both.

Into the meat of the burrito Gibbs pushed two of the Tylenol pm's, and into the drink he poured one adult dose of Nyquil.

That ought to do the trick to not only put McGee out for the rest he so badly needed but refused to give in to, but also help relieve some of the aches and discomfort he no doubt had from his many small injuries and over used muscles.

"Are you sure that's not too much?" Ziva asked dubiously, but quietly enough not to tip off McGee.

"I don't think both together will hurt him, but if I know McGee he'll resist as long as he can before giving in and taking either the drink or the food. He needs both, but he's not happy with me right now and it will be a matter of principal with him. This way, both bases are covered."

Ziva nodded in appreciation of the full explanation. It wasn't completely like Gibbs to explain everything he did, but Ziva guessed that he saw her concern in such an unorthodox act and wanted to put her concerns to rest.

She also silently commended him on his ability to think like his agent, even with McGee acting so uncharacteristic. Gibbs knew his people, no doubt about it.

"Take it to him," Gibbs ordered, and Ziva knew it was because McGee might resist a little less if it came from her rather than the man he was so angry with.

There was not a lot of love lost between McGee and Gibbs at the moment.

She hoped that was something they could fix. She wanted the team back to normal and back home as quickly as possible. Of course, first they needed to somehow bring McGee back to himself, and then rescue Sara.

She couldn't fathom in which direction McGee's mental state would detour if they failed, or if Sara did not make it out alive.

But all indications said it wouldn't be good.

McGee did not respond when she gave him his food, but his furious stare never left Gibbs' form. McGee was burning with anger, obviously, and not yet ready to let it go, even as he sagged with exhaustion.

After a couple of awkward tries, Ziva simply left his food on the table well within reach. Gibbs lay down on the spare bed and told Ziva to get some rest in the extra bed in the other room, then to relieve Tony later.

"What about..." she gestured at McGee. Gibbs was clearly ready to give in and listen to his own body and get some rest- hopefully- but that left McGee unsupervised. He was restrained, but that could be escaped if one worked hard enough at it or had enough tricks up their sleeve.

"He's not goin' anywhere. Not with me here."

Ziva took him at his word, only partly because she had no choice. Gibbs was infamous for his very good hearing, but also for his ability to stay alert even when resting or sleeping. It was the Marine in him, Tony had told her many times. Some parts never faded.

Gibbs was already dozing as she quietly moved from that room into the connecting one. She took her food with her but decided she was too sleepy to eat and set it aside in favor of lying down. Tony barely acknowledge her when she informed him she would relieve him of duty in a few hours.

But she couldn't resist one parting shot before sliding into sleep.

"If you let the prisoners escape, don't wake me. You're telling Gibbs yourself."

She never heard his reply, if there was one.


End file.
